PREFACE 

This  is  the  story  of  The  Light  that  Failed  as  it  ^ra. 
originally  conceived  by  the  Writer. 

RuDYARD  Kipling* 


DEDICATION 

If  I  were  hanged  on  the  highest  hill. 
Mother  o'  mijie,  O  mother  o*  mine  ! 

I  know  whose  love  would  follow  me  stilly 
Mother  d'  mine,  O  mother  c'  mijie  ! 

If  I  were  drowned  in  the  deepest  sea. 
Mother  o'  viine,  O  mother  <?'  mine  ! 

I  know  whose  tears  would  come  down  to  m^ 
Mother  <?'  mine,  O  mother  d*  viine  1 

If  I  were  damned  of  body  and  soul, 
I  know  whose  prayers  would  make  me  whole, 
Mother  d  viine^  0  mother  o*  tnine  / 


THE  LIGHT  THAT   FAILED 


CHAPTER  I. 

So  we  settled  it  all  when  the  storm  was  done, 

As  comfy  as  comfy  could  be  ; 
And  I  was  to  wait  in  the  barn,  my  dears, 

Because  I  was  only  three, 
And  Teddy  would  run  to  the  rainbow's  foot. 

Because  he  was  five  and  a  man  ; 
And  that's  how  it  all  began,  my  dears, 

And  that's  how  it  all  began. 

Big  Barn  Stories, 

*'  What  do  you  think  she'd  do  if  she  caught 
us  ?  We  oughtn't  to  have  it,  you  know,"  said 
Maisie. 

"  Beat  me,  and  lock  you  up  in  your  bed- 
room," Dick  answered,  without  hesitation. 
*'  Have  you  got  the  cartridges  ?  " 

"Yes;  they're  in  my  pocket,  but  they  are 
joggling  horribly.  Do  pin-fire  cartridges  go 
off  of  their  own  accord  ? " 

"Don't  know.  Take  the  revolver,  if  you 
are  afraid,  and  let  me  carry  them." 

"  I'm  not  afraid."  Maisie  strode  forward 
swiftly,  a  hand  in  her  pocket  and  her  chin  in 
the  air.  Dick  followed  with  a  small  pin-fire 
revolver. 


2230783 


4  The  Light  that  Failed 

The  children  had  discovered  that  their 
lives  would  be  unendurable  without  pistol 
practise.  After  much  forethought  and  self- 
denial,  Dick  had  saved  seven  shillings  and 
sixpence,  the  price  of  a  badly  constructed 
Belgian  revolver.  Maisie  could  only  contrib- 
ute half  a  crown  to  the  syndicate  for  the 
purchase  of  a  hundred  cartridges.  "  You  can 
save  better  than  I  can,  Dick,"  she  explained ; 
"  I  like  nice  things  to  eat,  and  it  doesn't  matter 
to  you.  Besides,  boys  ought  to  do  these 
things." 

Dick  grumbled  a  little  at  the  arrangement, 
but  went  out  and  made  the  purchases,  which 
the  children  were  then  on  their  way  to  test. 
Revolvers  did  not  lie  in  the  scheme  of  their 
daily  life  as  decreed  for  them  by  the  guardian 
who  was  incorrectly  supposed  to  stand  in  the 
place  of  a  mother  to  these  two  orphans.  Dick 
had  been  under  her  care  for  six  years,  during 
which  time  she  had  made  her  profit  of  the  allow- 
ances supposed  to  be  expended  on  his  clothes 
and,  partly  through  thoughtlessness,  partly 
through  a  natural  desire  to  pain — she  was  a 
widow  of  some  years,  anxious  to  marry  again — 
had  made  his  days  burdensome  on  his  young 
shoulders.  Where  he  had  looked  for  love  she 
gave  him  first  aversion  and  then  hate.  Where 
he,  growing  older,  had  sought  a  little  sympathy, 
she  gave  him  ridicule.  The  many  hours  that 
she  could  spare  from  the  ordering  of  her  small 
house  she  devoted  to  what  she  called  the 
home  training  of  Dick  Heldar.     Her  religion. 


The  Light  that  Failed  5 

manufactured  in  the  main  by  her  own  intelli- 
gence and  an  ardent  study  of  the  Scriptures,  was 
an  aid  to  her  in  this  matter.  At  such  times  as 
she  herself  was  not  personally  displeased  with 
Dick  she  left  him  to  understand  that  he  had 
a  heavy  account  to  settle  with  his  Creator ; 
wherefore  Dick  learned  to  loathe  his  God  as 
intensely  as  he  loathed  Mrs.  Jennett ;  and 
this  is  not  a  wholesome  frame  of  mind  for  the 
young.  Since  she  chose  to  regard  him  as  a 
hopeless  liar,  when  dread  of  pain  drove  him 
to  his  first  untruth  he  naturally  developed  into 
a  liar,  but  an  economical  and  self-contained 
one,  never  throwing  away  the  least  unnecessary 
fib,  and  never  hesitating  at  the  blackest,  if  it 
were  only  plausible,  that  might  make  his  life 
a  little  easier.  The  treatment  taught  him  at 
least  the  power  of  living  alone — a  power  that 
was  of  service  to  him  when  he  went  to  a 
public  school  and  the  boys  laughed  at  his 
clothes,  which  were  poor  in  quality  and  much 
mended.  In  the  holidays  he  returned  to  the 
teachings  of  Mrs.  Jennett,  and,  that  the  chain 
of  discipline  might  not  be  weakened  by  associ' 
ation  with  the  world,  was  generally  beaten,  on 
one  count  or  another,  before  he  had  been 
twelve  hours  under  her  roof. 

The  autumn  of  one  year  brought  him  a 
companion  in  bondage, a  long-haired,gray-eyed 
little  atom,  as  self-contained  as  himself,  who 
moved  about  the  house  silently,  and  for  the 
first  few  weeks  spoke  only  to  the  goat,  that 
was  her  chiefest  friend  on  earth  and  lived  in 


6  The  Light  that  Failed 

the  back  garden.  Mrs.  Jennett  objected  to 
the  goat  on  the  grounds  that  he  was  un-Chris- 
tian,  which  he  certainly  was.  "Then,"  said 
the  atom,  choosing  her  words  very  deliber- 
ately, "  I  shall  write  to  my  lawyer-peoples  and 
tell  them  that  you  are  a  very  bad  woman. 
Amomma  is  mine,  mine,  mine  !  "  Mrs.  Jennett 
made  a  movement  to  the  hall,  where  certain 
umbrellas  and  canes  stood  in  a  rack.  The  atom 
understood  as  clearly  as  Dick  what  this  meant. 
"  I  have  been  beaten  before,"  she  said,  still 
in  the  same  passionless  voice;  "I  have  been 
beaten  worse  than  you  can  ever  beat  me.  If 
you  beat  me,  I  shall  write  to  my  lawyer-peoples 
and  tell  them  that  you  do  not  give  me  enough 
to  eat.  I  am  not  afraid  of  you."  Mrs.  Jennett 
did  not  go  into  the  hall,  and  the  atom,  after  a 
pause  to  assure  herself  that  all  danger  of  v.^ar 
was  past,  went  out  to  weep  bitterly  on  Amom- 
ma's  neck. 

Dick  learned  to  know  her  as  Maisie,  and  at 
first  mistrusted  her  profoundly,  for  he  feared 
that  she  might  interfere  with  the  small  liberty 
of  action  left  to  him.  She  did  not,  however, 
and  she  volunteered  no  friendliness  until  Dick 
had  taken  the  first  steps.  Long  before  the  holi- 
days were  over  the  stress  of  punishment  shared 
in  common  drove  the  children  together,  if  it 
were  only  to  play  into  each  other's  hands  as 
they  prepared  lies  for  Mrs.  Jennett 's  use. 
When  Dick  returned  to  school  Maisie  whis- 
pered :  "  Now  I  shall  be  all  alone  to  take  care 
of  myself ;  but  " — and  she  nodded  her  head 


The  Light  that  Failed  7 

bravely — "I  can  do  it.  You  promised  to 
send  Amomma  a  brass  collar.  Send  it  soon." 
A  week  later  she  asked  for  that  collar  by 
return  of  post,  and  was  not  pleased  when  she 
learned  that  it  took  time  to  make  it.  When 
at  last  Dick  forwarded  the  gift  she  forgot  to 
thank  him  for  it. 

Many  holidays  had  come  and  gone  since 
that  day,  and  Dick  had  grown  into  a  lanky 
hobbledehoy,  more  than  ever  conscious  of  his 
bad  clothes.  Not  for  a  moment  had  Mrs. 
Jennett  relaxed  her  tender  care  of  him,  but 
the  average  canings  of  a  public  school — Dick 
fell  under  punishment  about  three  times  a 
month — filled  him  with  contempt  for  her 
powers.  "  She  doesn't  hurt,"  he  explained  to 
Maisie,  who  urged  him  to  rebellion,  "and  she 
is  kinder  to  you  after  she  has  whacked  me." 
Dick  shambled  through  the  days  unkempt  in 
body  and  savage  in  soul,  as  the  smaller  boys 
of  the  school  learned  to  know,  for  when  the 
spirit  moved  him  he  would  hit  them,  cunningly 
and  with  science.  The  same  spirit  made  him 
more  than  once  try  to  tease  Maisie,  but  the 
girl  refused  to  be  made  unhappy.  "We  are 
both  miserable  as  it  is,"  said  she.  "  What  is 
the  use  of  trying  to  make  things  worse  ? 
Let's  find  things  to  do,  and  forget  things." 

The  pistol  was  the  outcome  of  that  search. 
It  could  only  be  used  on  the  muddiest  fore- 
shore of  the  beach,  far  away  from  bathing 
machines  and  pier  heads,  below  the  grassy 
slopes    of    Fort  Keeling.     The    tide   ran  out 


8  The  Light  that  Failed 

nearly  two  miles  on  that  coast,  and  the  many* 
colored  mud  banks,  touched  by  the  sun,  sent  up 
a  lamentable  smell  of  dead  weed.  It  was  late 
in  the  afternoon  when  Dick  and  Maisie  ar- 
rived on  their  ground,  Amomma  trotting 
patiently  behind. 

"  Mf  !  "  said  Maisie,  sniffing  the  air.  "  I 
wonder  what  makes  the  sea  so  smelly.  I 
don't  like  it." 

"You  never  like  anything  that  isn't  made 
just  for  you,"  said  Dick,  bluntly.  "  Give  me 
the  cartridges,  and  I'll  try  first  shot.  How 
far  does  one  of  these  little  revolvers  carry  ?  " 

"Oh.  half  a  mile,"  said  Maisie,  promptly. 
**  At  least  it  makes  an  awful  noise.  Be  care- 
ful with  the  cartridges ;  I  don't  like  those 
jagged  stick-up  things  on  the  rim.  Dick,  do 
be  careful." 

*'  All  right.  I  know  how  to  load.  I'll  fire 
at  the  breakwater  out  here." 

He  fired,  and  Amomma  ran  away  bleating. 
The- bullet  threw  up  a  spurt  of  mud  to  the 
right  of  the  weed-wreathed  pines. 

"Throws  high  and  to  the  right.  You  try, 
Maisie.     Mind,  it's  loaded  all  'round." 

Maisie  took  the  pistol  and  stepped  delicately 
to  the  verge  of  the  mud,  her  hand  firmly 
closed  on  the  butt,  her  left  eye  and  mouth 
screwed  up.  Dick  sat  down  on  a  tuft  of  bank 
and  laughed.  Amomma  returned  very  cau- 
tiously. He  was  accustomed  to  strange  ex- 
periences in  his  afternoon  walks,  and,  finding 
the  cartridge  box  unguarded,  made  investiga- 


The  Light  that  Failed  9 

tions  with  his  nose.  Maisie  fired,  but  could 
not  see  where  the  bullet  went. 

"  I  think  it  hit  the  post,"  she  said,  shading 
her  eyes  and  looking  out  across  the  sailless 
sea. 

"  I  know  it  has  gone  out  to  the  Marizion 
Bell  Buoy,"  said  Dick,  with  a  chuckle.  "Fire 
low,  and  to  the  left;  then  perhaps  you'll  get 
it.  Oh,  look  at  Amomma  !  he's  eating  the 
cartridges  !  " 

Maisie  turned  the  revolver  in  her  hand  just 
in  time  to  see  Amomma  scampering  away 
from  the  pebbles  Dick  threw  after  him. 
Nothing  is  sacred  to  a  billy-goat.  Being  well 
fed  and  the  adored  of  his  mistress,  Amomma 
had  naturally  swallowed  two  loaded  pin-fire 
cartridges.  Maisie  hurried  up  to  assure  her- 
self that  Dick  had  not  miscounted  the  tale. 

"  Yes,  he's  eaten  two  1  " 

"  Horrid  little  beast !  Then  they'll  joggle 
about  inside  him  and  blow  up,  and  serve  him 
right.   .   .  .   Oh,  Dickl  have  I  killed  youi*" 

Revolvers  are  tricky  things  for  young  hands 
to  deal  with.  Maisie  could  not  explain  how 
it  had  happened,  but  a  veil  of  reeking  smoke 
separated  her  from  Dick,  and  she  was  quite 
certain  that  the  pistol  had  gone  off  in  his 
face.  Then  she  heard  him  sputter,  and 
dropped  on  her  knees  beside  him,  crying, 
*  Dick,  you  aren't  hurt,  are  you  ?  I  didn't  mean 
it." 

"  Of  course  you  didn't,"  said  Dick,  emerg- 
ing from  the    smoke    and  wiping  his    cheek. 


10         The  Light  that  Failed 

*'  But  you  nearly  blinded  me.  That  powder 
stuff  stings  awfully."  A  neat  little  splash  of 
gray  lead  on  a  stone  showed  where  the  bullet 
had  gone.     Maisie  began  to  whimper. 

"Don't,"  said  Dick,  jumping  to  his  feet  and 
shaking  himself.     ".I'm  not  a  bit  hurt." 

"  No,  but  I  might  have  killed  you,"  pro- 
tested Maisie,  the  corners  of  her  mouth  droop- 
ing.    "  What  should  I  have  done  then  ?  " 

"  Gone  home  and  told  Mrs.  Jennett."  Dick 
grinned  at  the  thought ;  then,  softening  : 
"  Please  don't  worry  about  it.  Besides,  we 
are  wasting  time.  We've  got  to  get  back  to 
tea.     I'll  take  the  revolver  a  bit. " 

Maisie  would  have  wept  on  the  least  en- 
couragement, but  Dick's  indifference,  albeit 
his  hand  was  shaking  as  he  picked  up  the 
pistol,  restrained  her.  She  lay  panting  on 
the  beach  while  Dick  methodically  bombarded 
the  breakwater.  "  Got  it  at  last !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, as  a  lock  of  weed  flew  from  the 
wood. 

"  Let  me  try,"  said  Maisie,  imperiously. 
"  I'm  all  right  now."  They  fired  in  turns  till 
the  rickety  little  revolver  nearly  shook  itself 
to  pieces,  and  Amomma  the  outcast — because 
he  might  blow  up  at  any  moment — browsed 
in  the  background  and  wondered  why  stones 
were  thrown  at  him.  Then  they  found  a  balk 
of  timber  floating  in  a  pool  which  was  com- 
manded by  the  seaward  slope  of  Fort  Keeling, 
and  they  sat  down  together  before  this  new 
target. 


The  Light  that  Failed         ii 

"Next  holidays,"  said  Dick,  as  the  now 
thoroughly  fouled  revolver  kicked  wildly  in 
his  hand,  *'  we'll  get  another  pistol — central 
fire,  that  will  carry  further." 

"  There  won't  be  any  next  holidays  for  me," 
said  Maisie.     "I'm  going  away.'* 

"  Where  to  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  My  lawyers  have  written 
to  Mrs.  Jennett,  and  I've  got  to  be  educated 
somewhere — in  France,  perhaps — I  don't 
know  where  ;  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  away." 

"I  sha'n't  like  it  a  bit.  I  suppose  I  shall 
be  left.  Look  here,  Maisie,  is  it  really  true 
you're  going  ?  Then  these  holidays  will  be 
the  last  I  shall  see  anything  of  you ;  and  I  go 
back  to  school  next  week.     I  wish " 

The  young  blood  turned  his  cheeks  scarlet. 
Maisie  was  picking  grass  tufts  and  throwing 
them  down  the  slope  at  a  yellow  sea  poppy 
nodding  all  by  itself  to  the  illimitable  levels  of 
the  mud  flats  and  the  milk-white  sea  beyond. 

"I  wish,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "that  I 
could  see  you  again  some  time.  You  wish 
that  too?" 

"  Yes,  but  it  would  have  been  better  if — if 
— you  had — shot  straight  over  there — down 
by  the  breakwater." 

Maisie  looked  with  large  eyes  for  a  moment. 
And  this  was  the  boy  who  only  ten  days  before 
had  decorated  Amomma's  horns  with  cut- 
paper  ham  frills  and  turned  him  out  a  bearded 
derision  among  the  public  ways !  Then  she 
dropped  her  eyes  ;  this  was  not  the  boy. 


12         The  Light  that  Failed 

"  Don't  be  stupid,"  she  said,  reprovingly, 
and  with  swift  instinct  attacked  the  side  issue. 
"  How  selfish  you  are !  Just  think  what  I 
should  have  felt  if  that  horrid  thing  had 
killed  you !  I'm  quite  miserable  enough 
already.'* 

"  Why  ?  Because  you're  going  away  from 
Mrs.  Jennett  ?  " 

*'  No." 

"  From  me,  then  ? " 

No  answer  for  a  long  time.  Dick  dared 
not  look  at  her.  He  felt,  though  he  did  not 
know,  all  that  the  past  four  years  had  been  to 
him,  and  this  the  more  acutely  since  he  had 
no  knowledge  to  put  his  feelings  in  words. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  *'  I  suppose  it 
is." 

"  Maisie,  you  must  know.  I'm  not  sup- 
posing." 

"  Let's  go  home,"  said  Maisie,  weakly. 

But  Dick  was  not  minded  to  retreat. 

*'  I  can't  say  things,"  he  pleaded,  "  and  I'm 
awfully  sorry  for  teasing  you  about  Amomma 
the  other  day.  It's  all  different  now,  Maisie, 
can't  you  see?  And  you  might  have  told  me 
that  you  were  going,  instead  of  leaving  me  to 
find  out." 

"  You  didn't.  I  did  tell.  Oh,  Dick,  what's 
the  use  of  worrying  ?  " 

"There  isn't  any;  but  we've  been  together 
years  and  years,  and  I  didn't  know  how  much 
I  cared." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  ever  did  care." 


The  Light  that  Failed         13 

**  No,  I  didn't ;  but  I  do.  I  care  awfully 
now,  Maisie,"  he  gulped — ''Maisie  darlingj 
say  you  care  too,  please." 

"I  do ;  indeed  I  do ;  but  it  won't  be  any 
use." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  going  away." 

"  Yes,  but  if  you  promise  before  you  go. 
Only  say — will  you  ?  "  A  second  "  darling  " 
came  to  his  lips  more  easily  than  the  first. 
There  were  few  endearments  in  Dick's  home 
or  school  life  ;  he  had  to  find  them  by  instinct. 
Dick  took  the  little  hand,  blackened  with  the 
escaped  gas  of  the  revolver. 

"  I  promise,"  she  said,  solemnly  ;  "  but  if  I 
care  there  is  no  need  for  promising.'* 

"  And  do  you  care  ?  "  For  the  first  time  in 
the  past  few  minutes  their  eyes  met  and  spoke 
for  them  who  had  no  skill  in  speech. 

"  Oh,  Dick,  don't !  please  don't  I  It  was  all 
right  when  we  said  good  morning  ;  but  now 
it's  all  different !  "  Amomma  looked  on  from 
afar.  He  had  seen  his  property  quarrel  fre- 
quently, but  had  never  seen  kisses  exchanged 
before.  The  yellow  sea-poppy  was  wiser,  and 
nodded  its  head  approvingly.  Considered  as 
a  kiss,  that  was  a  failure  ;  but  since  it  was  the 
first,  other  than  those  demanded  by  duty,  in 
all  the  world  that  either  had  ever  given  or 
taken,  it  opened  to  them  new  worlds  and  every 
one  of  them  glorious,  so  that  they  were  lifted 
above  the  consideration  of  any  worlds  at  all, 
especially  those  in  which  tea  is  a  necessity. 


14         The  Light  that  Failed 

and  sat  still,  holding  each  other's  hands  and 
saying  not  a  word. 

"You  can't  forget  now,"  said  Dick,  at  last. 
There  was  that  on  his  cheek  that  stung  more 
than  gunpowder. 

"  1  shouldn't  have  forgotten,  anyhow,"  said 
Maisie,  and  they  looked  at  each  other  and  saw 
that  each  was  changed  from  the  companion  of 
an  hour  ago  to  a  wonder  and  a  mystery  they 
could  not  understand.  The  sun  began  to  set, 
and  a  night  wind  thrashed  along  the  bents  of 
the  foreshore. 

"  We  shall  be  awfully  late  for  tea,"  said 
Maisie.     "  Let's  go  home. " 

**  Let's  use  the  rest  of  the  cartridges  first,"  said 
Dick ;  and  he  helped  Maisie  down  the  slope 
of  the  fort  to  the  sea — a  descent  she  was  quite 
capable  of  accomplishing  at  full  speed.  Equally 
gravely  Maisie  took  the  grimy  hand.  Dick 
bent  forward  clumsily  ;  Maisie  drew  her  hand 
away,  and  Dick  blushed. 

"  It's  very  pretty,"  he  said. 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  Maisie,  with  a  little  laugh  of 
gratified  vanity.  She  stood  close  to  Dick  as 
he  loaded  the  revolver  for  the  last  time  and 
fired  across  the  sea  with  a  vague  notion  at 
the  back  of  his  head  that  he  was  protecting 
Maisie  from  all  the  evils  in  the  world.  A 
puddle  far  across  the  mud  caught  the  last  rays 
of  the  sun  and  turned  into  a  wrathful  red 
disk.  The  light  held  Dick's  attention  for  a 
moment,  and  as  he  raised  his  revolver  there 
fell  upon  him  a  renewed  sense  of  the  miracu- 


The  Light  that  Failed        15 

lous,  in  that  he  was  standing  by  Maisie,  who 
had  promised  to  care  for  him  for  an  indefinite 
length  of  time  till  such  date  as —  A  gust  of 
the  growing  wind  drove  the  girl's  long  black 
hair  across  his  face  as  she  stood  with  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder  calling  Amomma  "  a  little 
beast,"  and  for  a  moment  he  was  in  the  dark 
— a  darkness  that  stung.  The  bullet  went 
singing  out  to  the  empty  sea. 

"  Spoiled  my  aim,"  said  he,  shaking  his 
head.  "  There  aren't  any  more  cartridges ; 
we  shall  have  to  run  home."  But  they  did  not 
run.  They  walked  very  slowly,  arm  in  arm. 
And  it  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  them 
whether  the  neglected  Amomma,  with  two  pin- 
fire  cartridges  in  his  inside,  blew  up  or  trotted 
beside  them  ;  for  they  had  come  into  a  golden 
heritage  and  were  disposing  of  it  with  all  the 
wisdom  of  their  years. 

"  And  I  shall  be — "  quoth  Dick,  valiantly. 
Then  he  checked  himself :  "  I  don't  know 
what  I  shall  be.  I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to 
pass  any  exams.,  but  I  can  make  awful  cari- 
catures of  the  master.     Ho,  ho  !  " 

"Be  an  artist  then,"  said  Maisie.  "You're 
always  laughing  at  my  trying  to  draw  ;  and  it 
will  do  you  good." 

"  I'll  never  laugh  at  anything  you  do,"  he 
answered.  "I'll  be  an  artist,  and  I'll  do 
things." 

"  Artists  always  want  money,  don't  they  ?  *' 

"  I've  got  a  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  a 
year  of  my  own.     My  guardians  tell  me  I'm  to 


i6        The  Light  that  Failed 

have  it  when  I  come  of  age.  That  wiH  be 
enough  to  begin  with." 

"  Ah,  I'm  rich,"  said  Maisie.  **  IVe  got 
three  hundred  a  year  all  my  own  when  I'm 
twenty-one.  That  is  why  Mrs.  Jennett  is 
kinder  to  me  than  she  is  to  you.  I  wish, 
though,  that  I  had  somebody  that  belonged  to- 
me— just  a  father  or  a  mother." 

**  You  belong  to  me,"  said  Dick,  *'for  ever 
and  ever.'' 

*'  I  know  I  do.  It's  very  nice."  She 
squeezed  his  arm.  The  kindly  darkness  hid 
them  both,  and,  emboldened  because  he  could 
only  just  see  the  profile  of  Maisie's  cheek  with 
the  long  lashes  veiling  the  gray  eyes,  Dick  at 
the  front  door  delivered  himself  of  the  words  he 
had  been  boggling  over  for  the  last  two  hours. 

"And  I — love  you,  Maisie, "  he  said,  in  a 
whisper  that  seemed  to  him  to  ring  across 
the  world — the  world  that  he  would  to-morrow 
or  the  next  day  set  out  and  conquer. 

There  was  a  scene,  not,  for  the  sake  of  dis- 
cipline, to  be  reported,  when  Mrs.  Jennett 
would  have  fallen  upon  him,  first  for  disgrace- 
ful unpunctuality,  and  secondly  for  nearly 
killing  himself  with  a  forbidden  weapon. 

"  I  was  playing  with  it  and  it  went  off  by 
itself,"  said  Dick,  when  the  powder  packed 
cheek  could  no  longer  be  hidden,  "but  if  you 
think  youVe  going  to  lick  me  youVe  wrong. 
You  are  never  going  to  touch  me  again.  Sit 
down  and  give  me  my  tea.  You  can't  cheat 
us  out  of  that,  anyhow." 


The  Light  that  Failed         17 

Mrs.  Jennett  gasped  and  became  livid. 
Maisie  said  nothing,  but  encouraged  Dick 
with  her  eyes,  and  he  behaved  abominably 
all  that  evening.  Mrs.  Jennett  prophesied 
an  immediate  judgment  of  Providence  and  a 
descent  into  Tophet  later ;  but  Dick  walked 
in  Paradise  and  would  not  hear.  Only  when 
he  was  going  to  bed  Mrs.  Jennett  recovered 
and  asserted  herself.  He  had  bidden  Maisie 
good-night  with  down-dropped  eyes  and  from 
a  distance. 

'*  If  you  aren't  a  gentleman  you  might  try 
to  behave  like  one,"  said  Mrs.  Jennett,  spite- 
fully. "You've  been  quarreling  with  Maisie 
again." 

This  meant  that  the  regulation  good-night 
kiss  had  been  omitted.  Maisie,  white  to  the 
lips,  thrust  her  cheek  forward  with  a  fine  air 
of  indifference,  and  was  duly  pecked  by  Dick, 
who  tramped  out  of  the  room  red  as  fire. 
That  night  he  dreamed  a  wild  dream.  He 
had  won  all  the  world  and  brought  it  to  Maisie 
in  a  cartridge-box,  but  she  turned  it  over  with 
her  foot,  and,  instead  of  saying,  "  Thank 
you,"  cried ; 

*' Where  is  the  brass  collar  you  promised 
for  Amomma  ?     Oh,  how  selfish  you  are  1 " 


i8         The  Light  that  Failed 


CHAPTER  II. 

Then  we  brought  the  lances  down,  then  the  bugles 

blew, 
When  we  went  to  Kandahar,  ridin'  two  an'  two. 
Ridin',  ridin',  ridin',  two  an'  two. 
Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra, 
All  the  way  to  Kandahar,  ridin'  two  an'  two. 

Barrack  Room  Ballad. 

"  I'm  not  angry  with  the  British  public,  but 
I  do  wish  we  had  a  few  thousand  of  them 
scattered  among  these  rocks.  They  wouldn't 
be  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  at  their  morning 
papers  then.  Can't  you  imagine  the  regu- 
lation householder — Lover  of  Justice,  Con- 
stant Reader,  Paterfamilias,  and  all  that  lot — 
frizzling  on  hot  gravel  ?  " 

"  With  a  blue  veil  over  his  head,  and  his 
clothes  in  strips.  Has  any  man  here  a  nee- 
dle ?     I've  got  a  piece  of  sugar  sack." 

"  I'll  lend  you  a  packing  needle  for  six 
square  inches  of  it,  then.  Both  my  knees  are 
worn  through." 

"Why  not  six  square  acres,  while  you're 
about  it  ?  But  lend  me  the  needle,  and  I'll 
see  what  I  can  do  with  the  selvage.  I  don't 
think  there's  enough  to  protect  my  royal  body 
from  the  cold  blast  as  it  is.  What  are-  you 
doing  with  that  everlasting  sketch-book  of 
yours,  Dick?" 

"  Study  of  our  Special  Correspondent  re- 


The  Light  that  Failed         19 

pairing  his  wardrobe,"  said  Dick,  gravely,  as 
the  other  man  kicked  off  a  pair  of  sorely 
worn  riding-breeches  and  began  to  fit  a  square 
of  coarse  canvas  over  the  most  obvious  open 
space.  He  grunted  disconsolately  as  the 
vastness  of  the  void  developed  itself. 

*'  Sugar  bags,  indeed  !  Hi !  you  pilot  man 
there  ?  Lend  me  all  the  sails  of  that  whale- 
boat." 

A  fez-crowned  head  bobbed  up  in  the  stern 
sheets,  divided  itself  into  exact  halves  with 
one  flashing  grin,  and  bobbed  down  again. 
The  man  of  the  battered  breeches,  clad  only 
in  a  Norfolk  jacket  and  a  gray  flannel  shirt, 
went  on  with  his  clumsy  sewing,  while  Dick 
chuckled  over  his  sketch. 

Some  twenty  whaleboats  were  nuzzling  a 
sand  bank  which  was  dotted  with  English 
soldiery  of  half  a  dozen  corps,  bathing  or 
washing  their  clothes.  A  heap  of  boat  rollers, 
commissariat  boxes,  sugar  bags,  and  flour 
and  small-arm  ammunition  cases  showed 
where  one  of  the  whaleboats  had  been  com- 
pelled to  unload  hastily ;  and  a  regimental 
carpenter  was  swearing  aloud  as  he  tried,  on 
a  wholly  insufficient  allowance  of  white  lead, 
to  plaster  up  the  sun-parched  gaping  seams 
of  the  boat  herself. 

"  First  the  bloomin'  rudder  snaps,"  said  he 
to  the  world  in  general  ;  "  then  the  mast  goes  ; 
an'  then,  s'  'elp  me,  when  she  can't  do  noth- 
in'  else,  she  opens  'erself  out  like  a  cock-eyed 
Chinese  lotus.'' 


ao         The   T>it;lit  that   Failed 

"  Exactly  the  case  witli  my  breeches,  who- 
ever you  are,"  said  tluj  tailor,  without  looking 
up.  "  DicU,  I  wonder  when  1  shall  see  a 
decent  shop  again." 

Tliere  was  no  answer  save  the  incessant 
angry  ninrnuir  of  the  Nile  as  it  raced  round  a 
basalt-walled  bend  and  foamed  across  a  rock 
ridge  half  a  mile  up-stream.  It  was  as  tiiough 
the  brown  weight  of  the  river  would  drive  the 
white  men  back  to  their  own  country.  'I'lie 
indescribable  weight  of  the  Nile  mud  in  tlu; 
air  told  that  the  stream  was  falling  and  that 
the  next  few  miles  would  be  no  light  thing  for 
the  whalcboals  to  overpass.  The  desert  ran 
down  almost  to  the  banks,  where,  among  gray, 
red,  and  black  hillocks,  a  camel  corps  was 
encampi'd.  No  man  dared,  even  for  a  day, 
lose  touch  of  the  slow-moving  boats;  there 
had  been  no  fighting  for  w(;eks  past,  and 
throughout  all  that  time  tlu;  Nile  had  never 
spared  them.  Rapid  had  followed  rapid, 
rock  rock,  and  island  group  island  group, 
till  the  rank  and  lile  had  long  since  lost 
all  count  of  direction  and  very  nearly  of 
time.  They  were  moving  somewhere?,  they 
did  not  know  why,  to  do  something,  they  did 
not  know  what.  IJcforc  them  lay  the  Nile, 
and  at  the  other  end  of  it  was  one  Clordon, 
fighting  for  dear  life,  in  a  town  called  Khar- 
toum. 'I'here  were  columns  of  British  troojis 
in  the  desert,  or  in  one  of  the  many  deserts; 
there  wi're  columns  on  the  river;  there  were 
yd  more   colnuuis    waiting    to    embark   on  the 


The   Light  that  Kailed         21 

river ;  there  were  fresh  drafts  waiting  at  As- 
siut  and  Assuan  ;  there  were  lies  and  rumors 
running  over  tlie  face  of  the  hopeless  land 
from  Suakim  to  the  Sixth  Cataract,  and  men 
su|;posed  generally  that  there  must  be  some 
(;nc  in  authcjrily  to  direct  the  general  scheme 
of  the  many  movements.  The  duty  of  that 
])arlicular  river  column  was  to  keep  the  whale- 
boais  afloat  in  the  water,  to  avoid  trampling 
on  the  villagers'  crops  when  the  gangs 
"  tracked  "  the  boats  with  lines  thrown  from 
midstream,  to  get  as  much  sleep  and  food  as 
was  possible,  and,  above  all,  to  press  on  with- 
out delay  in  the  teetii  of  the  churning  Nile. 

With  the  soldiers  sweated  and  toiled  the  cor- 
respondents of  the  newspapers,  and  they  were 
aluKJSt  as  ignorant  as  their  companions.  But 
it  was  above  all  things  necessary  tiiat  l^'.ngland 
at  breakfast  should  be  amused  and  thrilled  and 
interested,  whether  Gordon  lived  or  died,  or 
half  tile  iiritish  army  went  to  pieces  in  the 
sands.  Tiie  Soudan  campaign  was  a  pictur- 
esque one,  and  lent  itself  to  vivid  word  paint- 
ing. Now  and  again  a  "  Special  "  managed 
to  get  slain — which  was  not  altogether  a  dis- 
advantage to  the  paper  that  employed  him — 
and  more  often  tiie  iiand-to-hand  nature  of  the 
lighting  allowed  of  miraculous  escapes  which 
were  worth  telegrapiiing  home  at  eighteen- 
pence  the  word.  There  were  many  correspond- 
ents witii  many  corps  and  columns — from  the 
veterans  who  had  followed  on  the  heels  of  the 
cavalry  that  occupied   Cairo  in  '82,  what  time 


22         The  Light  that  Failed 

Arabi  Pasha  called  himself  king,  who  had  seen 
the  first  miserable  work  round  Suakim  when  the 
sentries  were  cut  up  nightly  and  the  scrub 
swarmed  with  spears,  to  youngsters  jerked  into 
the  business  at  the  end  of  a  telegraph  wire  to 
take  the  place  of  their  betters  killed  or  inval- 
ided. 

Among  the  seniors — those  who  knew  every 
shift  and  change  in  the  perplexing  postal  ar- 
rangements, the  value  of  the  seediest,  weediest 
Egyptian  garron  offered  for  sale  in  Cairo  or 
Alexandria,  who  could  talk  a  telegraph  clerk 
into  amiability,  and  soothe  the  ruffled  vanity 
of  a  newly  appointed  staff-officer  when  press 
regulations  became  burdensome — was  the  man 
in  the  flannel  shirt,  the  black-browed  Torpen- 
how.  He  represented  the  Central  Southern 
Syndicate  in  the  campaign,  as  he  had  repre- 
sented it  in  the  Egyptian  War  and  elsewhere. 
The  syndicate  did  not  concern  itself  greatly 
with  criticisms  of  attack  and  the  like.  It  sup- 
plied the  masses,  and  all  it  demanded  was  pic- 
turesqueness  and  abundance  of  detail.  There 
is  more  joy  in  England  over  one  soldier  who 
insubordinately  steps  out  of  a  square  to  rescue 
a  comrade  than  over  twenty  generals  slaving 
even  to  baldness  over  the  gross  details  of 
transport  and  commissariat. 

He  had  met  at  Suakim  a  young  man,  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  a  recently  abandoned  redoubt 
about  the  size  of  a  hat-box,  sketching  a  clump 
of  shell-torn  bodies  on  the  gravel  plain. 

*'  What  are  you  for  ? "  said  Torpenhow.    The 


The  Light  that  Failed        23 

formula  of  the  correspondent  is  that  of  the 
commercial  traveler  on  the  road. 

"  My  own  hand,"  said  the  young  man,  with- 
out looking  up.     "  Have  you  any  tobacco  ?  " 

Torpenhow  waited  till  the  sketch  was  fin- 
ished, and  when  he  had  looked  at  it,  said: 
"  What's  your  business  here  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  There  was  a  row,  so  I  came. 
I'm  supposed  to  be  doing  something  down 
at  the  painting  slips  among  the  boats,  or  else 
I'm  in  charge  of  the  condenser  on  one  of  the 
water  ships.      I've  forgotten   which." 

"You've  cheek  enough  to  build  a  redoubt 
with,"  said  Torpenhow,  and  took  stock  of  the 
new  acquaintance.  '*  Do  you  always  draw  like 
that  ?  " 

The  young  man  produced  more  sketches. 
"  Row  on  a  Chinese  pig-boat,"  said  he, 
sententiously,  showing  them  one  after  another. 
"  Chief  mate  dirked  by  a  comprador — Junk 
ashore  off  Hakodate — Somali  muleteer  being 
flogged — Star  shell  bursting  over  camp  at 
Berbera — Slave  dhow  being  chivied  round 
Tajurrah  Bay — Soldier  lying  dead  in  the  moon- 
light outside  Suakim — throat  cut  by  Fuzzies." 

"  H'm  !  "  said  Torpenhow,  "  can't  say  I  care 
for  Verestchagin-and-water  myself,  but  there 
is  no  accounting  for  tastes.  Doing  anything 
now,  are  you  ?  " 

"  No.     Amusing  myself  here." 

Torpenhow  looked  at  the  aching  desolation 
of  the  place.  "  'Faith,  you've  queer  notions 
of  amusement.     Got  any  money  ?  " 


24         The  Light  that  Failed 

"  Enough  to  go  on  with.  Look  here,  do 
you  want  me  to  do  war  work  ? " 

"I  don't.  My  syndicate  may,  though. 
You  can  draw  more  than  a  little,  and  I  don't 
suppose  you  care  much  what  you  get,  do 
you  ? " 

"Not  this  time.     I  want  my  chance  first." 

Torpenhow  looked  at  the  sketches  again 
and  nodded.  "  Yes,  you're  right  to  take  your 
first  chance  when  you  can  get  it." 

He  rode  away  swiftly  through  the  Gate  of 
the  Two  War  Ships,  rattled  across  the  cause- 
way into  the  town,  and  wired  to  his  syndi- 
cate : 

"  Got  man  here,  picture  work.  Good  and 
cheap.  Shall  I  arrange  ?  Will  do  letter  press 
with  sketches.'* 

The  man  on  the  redoubt  sat  swinging  his 
legs  and  murmuring  :  "■  I  knew  the  chance 
would  come  sooner  or  later.  By  God,  they'll 
have  to  sweat  for  it  if  I  come  through  this 
business  alive  !  " 

In  the  evening  Torpenhow  was  able  to 
announce  to  his  friend  that  the  Central  South- 
ern Agency  was  willing  to  take  him  on  trial, 
paying  expenses  for  three  months.  *'  And,  by 
the  way,  what's  your  name  ?  '*  said  Torpen- 
how. 

"  Heldar.     Do  they  give  me  a  free  hand  ?  " 

"They've  taken  you  on  chance.  You  must 
justify  the  choice.      You'd  better  stick  to  me. 


The  Light  that  Failed        25 

I'm  going  up-country  with  a  column,  and  I'll 
do  what  I  can  for  you.  Give  me  some  of 
your  sketches  taken  here,  and  I'll  send  'em 
along."  To  himself  he  said  :  "  That's  the  best 
bargain  the  Central  Southern  has  ever  made, 
and  they  got  me  cheaply  enough." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that,  after  some  purchase 
of  horseflesh  and  arrangements,  financial  and 
political,  Dick  was  made  free  of  the  New  and 
Honorable  Fraternity  of  War  Correspondents, 
who  all  possess  the  inalienable  right  of  doing 
as  much  work  as  they  can  and  getting  as  much 
for  it  as  Providence  and  their  owners  shall 
please.  To  these  things  are  added,  in  time, 
if  the  brother  be  worthy,  the  power  of  glib 
speech,  that  neither  man  nor  woman  can  re- 
sist when  a  meal  or  a  bed  is  in  question,  the 
eye  of  a  horse-coper,  the  skill  of  a  cook,  the 
constitution  of  a  bullock,  the  digestion  of  an 
ostrich,  and  an  infinite  adaptability  to  all 
circumstances.  But  many  die  before  they 
attain  to  this  degree,  and  the  past  masters  in 
the  craft  appear  for  the  most  part  in  dress 
clothes  when  they  are  in  England,  and  thus  is 
their  glory  hidden  from  the  multitude. 

Dick  followed  Torpenhow  wherever  the 
latter's  fancy  chose  to  lead  him,  and  between 
the  two  they  managed  to  accomplish  some 
work  that  almost  satisfied  themselves.  It  was 
not  an  easy  life  in  any  way,  and  under  its  in- 
fluence the  two  were  drawn  very  closely  to- 
gether, for  they  eat  from  the  same  dish,  they 
shared  the  same  water  bottle,  and  most  bind- 


26         The  Light  that  Failed 

ing  tie  of  all,  their  mails  went  off  together.  It 
was  Dick  who  managed  to  make  gloriously 
drunk  a  telegraph  clerk  in  a  palm  hut  far  be- 
yond the  Second  Cataract,  and,  while  the  man 
lay  in  bliss  on  the  floor,  possessed  himself  of 
some  laboriously  acquired  exclusive  informa- 
tion forwarded  by  a  confiding  correspondent 
of  an  opposition  syndicate,  made  a  careful 
duplicate  of  the  matter,  and  brought  the  result 
to  Torpenhow,  who  said  that  "  all  was  fair  in 
love  or  war  correspondence,"  and  built  an 
excellent  descriptive  article  from  his  rival's 
riotous  waste  of  words.  It  was  Torpenhow 
who — but  the  tale  of  their  adventures,  to- 
gether and  apart,  from  Philae  to  the  waste 
wilderness  of  Herawi  and  Muella,  would  fill 
many  books.  They  had  been  penned  into  a 
square  side  by  side,  in  deathly  fear  of  being 
shot  by  over-excited  soldiers;  they  had  fought 
with  baggage  camels  in  the  chill  dawn  ;  they 
had  jogged  along  in  silence  under  a  blinding 
sun  on  indefatigable  little  Egyptian  horses  ; 
and  they  had  floundered  on  the  shallows  of 
the  Nile,  when  the  whaleboat  in  which  they 
had  found  a  berth  chose  to  smite  a  hidden 
rock  and  rip  out  half  her  bottom  planks. 

Now  they  were  sitting  on  the  sand  bank, 
and  the  whaleboats  were  bringing  up  the 
remainder  of  the  column. 

"  Yes,"  said  Torpenhow,  as  he  put  the  last 
rude  stitches  into  his  overlong-neglected  gear, 
"  it  has  been  a  beautiful  business." 

"  The    patch    or     the    campaign  ? "     said 


The  Light  that  Failed        27 

Heldar.  "  Don't  think  much  of  either  my- 
self." 

"  You  want  the  '  Euryalus  '  brought  up 
above  the  Third  Cataract,  don't  you  ?  and 
eighty-one-ton  guns  at  Jakdul  ?  Now,  I'm  quite 
satisfied  with  my  breeches."  He  turned  round 
gravely  to  exhibit  himself,  after  the  manner  of 
a  clown. 

"  It's  very  pretty.  Specially  the  lettering 
on  the  sack,  G.  B.  T.  Government  Bullock 
Train.     That's  a  sack  from  India." 

"It's  my  initials — Gilbert  Belling  Torpen- 
how.  I  stole  the  cloth  on  purpose.  What 
the  mischief  are  the  camel  corps  doing 
yonder?"  Torpenhow  shaded  his  eyes  and 
looked  across  the  scrub-strewn  gravel. 

A  bugle  blew  furiously,  and  the  men  on  the 
bank  hurried  to  their  arms  and  accouterments. 

"  '  Pisan  soldiery  surprised  while  bathing,  '" 
remarked  Dick,  calmly.  "  Do  you  remember 
the  picture  ?  It's  by  Michael  Angelo.  All 
beginners  copy  it.  That  scrub's  alive  with 
enemy." 

The  camel  corps  on  the  bank  yelled  to  the 
infantry  to  come  to  them,  and  a  hoarse  shout- 
ing down  the  river  showed  that  the  remainder 
of  the  column  had  wind  of  the  trouble  and 
was  hastening  to  take  share  in  it.  As  swiftly 
as  a  reach  of  still  water  is  crisped  by  the  wand 
the  rock-strewn  ridges  and  scrub-topped  hills 
were  troubled  and  alive  with  armed  men. 
Mercifully  it  occurred  to  these  to  stand  far  off 
for  a  time,  to  shout  and  gjesticulate  joyously. 


28         The  Light  that  Failed 

One  man  even  delivered  himself  of  a  long 
story.  The  camel  corps  did  not  fire.  They 
were  only  too  glad  for  a  little  breathing  space 
until  some  sort  of  square  could  be  formed. 
The  men  on  the  sand  bank  ran  to  their  side, 
and  the  whaleboats,  as  they  toiled  up  within 
shouting  distance,  were  thrust  into  the  nearest 
bank  and  emptied  of  all  save  the  sick  and  a 
few  men  to  guard  them.  The  Arab  orator 
ceased  his  outcries,  and  his  friends  howled. 

"They  look  like  Mahdi's  men,"  said  Tor- 
penhow,  elbowing  himself  into  the  crush  of 
the  square  ;  "  but  what  thousands  of  'em  there 
are  !  The  tribes  hereabout  aren't  against  us, 
I  know." 

"  Then  the  Mahdi's  taken  another  town," 
said  Dick,  "and  set  all  these  yelping  devils 
free  to  chaw  us  up.     Lend  us  your  glass." 

*'  Our  scouts  should  have  told  us  of  this. 
We've  been  trapped,"  said  a  subaltern. 
"  Aren't  the  camel  guns  ever  going  to  begin  ? 
Hurry  up,  you  men  !  " 

There  was  no  need  for  any  order.  The  men 
flung  themselves,  panting,  against  the  sides  of 
the  square,  for  they  had  good  reason  to  know 
that  whoso  was  left  outside  when  the  fighting 
began  would  very  probably  die  in  an  extremely 
unpleasant  fashion.  The  little  one  hundred 
and  fifty-pound  camel  guns  posted  at  one  cor- 
ner of  the  square  opened  the  ball  as  the  square 
moved  forward  by  its  right  to  get  possession 
of  a  knoll  of  rising  ground.  All  had  fought 
in  this  manner  many  tim.es  before,  and  there 


The  Light  that  Failed        29 

was  no  novelty  in  the  entertainment  ;  always 
the  same  hot  and  stifling  formation,  the  smell 
of  dust  and  leather,  the  same  bolt-like  rush  of 
the  enemy,  the  same  pressure  on  the  weakest 
side  of  the  square,  the  few  minutes  of  des- 
perate hand-to-hand  scuffle,  and  then  the 
silence  of  the  desert,  broken  only  by  the  yells 
of  those  whom  the  handful  of  cavalry  at- 
tempted to  pursue.  They  had  grown  careless. 
The  camel  guns  spoke  at  intervals,  and  the 
square  slouched  forward  amid  the  protests  of 
the  camels.  Then  came  the  attack  of  three 
thousand  men,  who  had  not  learned  from 
books  that  it  is  impossible  for  troops  in  close 
order  to  attack  against  breech-loading  fire.  A 
few  dropping  shots  heralded  their  approach, 
and  a  few  horsemen  led,  but  the  bulk  of  the 
force  was  naked  humanity,  mad  with  rage,  and 
armed  with  the  spear  and  the  sword.  The 
instinct  of  the  desert,  where  there  is  always 
much  war,  told  them  that  the  right  flank  of 
the  square  was  the  weakest,  for  they  swung 
clear  of  the  front.  The  camel  guns  shelled 
them  as  they  passed  and  opened  for  an  instant 
lanes  through  their  midst,  most  like  those 
quick-closing  vistas  in  a  Kentish  hop  garden, 
seen  when  the  train  races  by  at  full  speed ; 
and  the  infantry  fire,  held  till  the  opportune 
moment,  dropped  them  in  close-packed  hun- 
dreds. No  civilized  troops  in  the  world  could 
have  endured  the  hell  through  which  they 
came,  the  living  leaping  high  to  avoid  the 
dead  clutching  at  their   heels,  the  wounded 


30         The  Light  that  Failed 

cursing  and  staggering  forward  till  they  fell — 
a  torrent  black  as  the  sliding  water  above  a 
mill-dam — full  on  the  right  flank  of  the  square. 
Then  the  line  of  the  dusty  troops  and  the 
faint  blue  desert  sky  overhead  went  out  in 
rolling  smoke,  and  the  little  stones  on  the 
heated  ground  and  the  tinder-dry  clumps  of 
scrub  became  matters  of  surpassing  interest, 
for  men  measured  their  agonized  retreat  and 
recovery  by  these  things,  counting  mechani- 
cally and  hewing  their  way  back  to  chosen 
pebble  and  branch.  There  was  no  semblance 
of  any  concerted  fighting.  For  aught  the  men 
knew,  the  enemy  might  be  attempting  all  four 
sides  of  the  square  at  once.  Their  business 
was  to  destroy  what  lay  in  front  of  them,  to 
bayonet  in  the  back  those  who  passed  over 
them,  and,  dying,  to  drag  down  the  slayer  till 
he  could  be  knocked  on  the  head  by  some 
avenging  gun  butt.  Dick  waited  quietly  with 
Torpenhow  and  a  young  doctor  till  the  stress 
became  unendurable.  There  was  no  hope  of 
attending  to  the  wounded  till  the  attack  was 
repulsed,  so  the  three  moved  forward  gingerly 
toward  the  weakest  side.  There  was  a  rush 
from  without,  the  short  houo"h-houo:h  of  the 
Stabbing  spears,  and  a  man  on  a  horse,  fol- 
lowed by  thirty  or  forty  others,  dashed  through, 
yelling  and  hacking.  The  right  flank  of  the 
square  sucked  in  after  them,  and  the  other 
sides  sent  help.  The  wounded,  who  knew 
that  they  had  but  a»  few  hours  more  to  live, 
caught  at  the  enemy's  feet  and  brought  them 


The  Light  that  Failed        31 

down,  or,  staggering  to  a  discarded  rifle,  fired 
blindly  into  the  scuffle  that  raged  in  the  center 
of  the  square.  Dick  was  conscious  that  some- 
body had  cut  him  violently  across  his  helmet ; 
that  he  had  fired  his  revolver  into  a  black, 
foam-flecked  face,  which,  forthwith,  ceased  to 
bear  any  resemblance  to  a  face,  and  that  Tor- 
penhow  had  gone  down  under  an  Arab  whom 
he  had  tried  to  "collar  low,"  and  was  turning 
over  and  over  with  his  captive,  feeling  for 
the  man's  eyes.  The  doctor  was  jabbling  at 
a  venture  with  a  bayonet,  and  a  helmetless 
soldier  was  firing  over  Dick's  shoulder.  The 
flying  grains  of  powder  stung  his  cheek.  It 
was  to  Torpenhow  that  Dick  turned  by  in- 
stinct. The  representative  of  the  Central 
Southern  Syndicate  had  shaken  himself  clear 
of  his  enemy,  and  rose,  wiping  his  thumb  on 
his  trousers.  The  Arab,  both  hands  to  his 
forehead,  screamed  aloud,  then  snatched  up 
his  spear  and  rushed  at  Torpenhow,  who  was 
panting  under  shelter  of  Dick's  revolver, 
Dick  fired  twice,  and  the  man  dropped  limply. 
His  upturned  face  lacked  one  eye.  The 
musketry  fire  redoubled,  but  cheers  mingled 
with  it.  The  rush  had  failed,  and  the  enemy 
were  flying.  If  the  heart  of  the  square  were 
shambles,  the  ground  beyond  was  a  butcher's 
shop.  Dick  thrust  his  way  forward  between 
the  maddened  men.  The  remnants  of  the 
enemy  were  retiring,  and  the  few — the  very 
few — English  cavalry  were  riding  down  the 
laggards. 


32         The  Light  that  Failed 

Beyond  the  lines  of  the  dead  a  broad  blood* 
stained  Arab  spear  cast  aside  in  the  retreat  lay 
across  a  stump  of  scrub,  and  beyond  this 
again  the  illimitable  dark  level  of  the  desert. 
The  sun  caught  the  steel  and  turned  it  into  a 
savage  red  disk.  Some  one  behind  him  was 
saying  :  "  Ah,  get  away,  you  brute  !  "  Dick 
raised  his  revolver  and  pointed  towards  the 
desert.  His  eye  was  held  by  the  red  splash 
in  the  distance  and  the  clamor  about  him 
seemed  to  die  down  to  a  very  far-away 
whisper,  like  the  whisper  of  a  level  sea. 
There  was  the  revolver  and  the  red  light,  and 
the  voice  of  some  one  scaring  something  away 
exactly  as  had  fallen  somewhere  before — prob- 
ably in  a  past  life.  Dick  waited  for  what 
should  happen  afterward.  Something  seemed 
to  crack  inside  his  head,  and  for  an  instant 
he  si.ood  in  the  dark — a  darkness  that  stung,. 
He  fired  at  random,  and  the  bullet  went  out 
across  the  desert  as  he  muttered  :  *'  Spoiled 
my  aim.  There  aren't  any  more  cartridges. 
We  shall  have  to  run  home."  He  put  his 
hand  to  his  head  and  brought  it  away  covered 
with  blood. 

"  Old  man,  you're  cut  rather  badly,"  said 
Torpenhow.  "I  owe  you  something  for  this 
business.  Thanks.  Stand  up !  I  say,  you 
can't  be  ill  here." 

Dick  had  fallen  stiffly  on  Torpen how's 
shoulder,  and  was  muttering  something  about 
aiming  low  and  to  the  left.  Then  he  sunk  to 
the    ground    and    w^as     silent.      Torpenhow 


The  Light  that  Failed        33 

dragged  him  off  to  a  doctor,  and  sat  down  to 
work  up  his  account  of  what  he  was  pleased  to 
call  "  a  sanguinary  battle,  in  which  our  arms 
had  acquitted  themselves,"  etc. 

AH  that  night,  when  the  troops  were  en- 
camped by  the  whaleboats,  a  black  figure 
danced  in  the  strong  moonlight  on  the  sand  bar 
and  shouted  that  *'  Khartoum  the  accursed 
one  was  dead — was  dead — was  dead;  that 
two  steamers  were  rock-staked  on  the  Nile  out- 
side the  city,  and  that  of  all  their  crews  there 
remained  not  one  ;  and  Khartoum  was  dead 
— was  dead — was  dead." 

But  Torpenhow  took  no  heed.  He  was 
watching  Dick,  who  was  calling  aloud  to  the 
restless  Nile  for  Maisie — and  again  Maisie  ! 

"  Behold  a  phenomenon,"  said  Torpenhow, 
rearranging  the  blanket.  "  Here  is  a  man^ 
presumably  human,  who  mentions  the  name 
of  one  woman  only.  And  I've  seen  a  good 
deal  of  delirium,  too.  Dick,  here's  some 
fizzy  drink/' 

"  Thank  you,  Maisie,"  said  Dick. 


34         The  Light  that  Failed 


CHAPTER  III. 


So  he  thinks  he  shall  take  to  the  sea  again 
For  one  more  cruise  with  his  buccaneers. 
To  singe  the  beard  of  the   King  of  Spain, 
And  capture  another  dean  of  Jaen 
And  sell  him  in  Algiers. 

A  Dutch   Picture. 


The  Soudan  campaign  and  Dick's  broken 
head  had  been  some  months  ended  and  mend- 
ed, and  the  Central  Southern  Syndicate  had 
paid  Dick  a  certain  sum  on  account  for  work 
done,  which  work  they  were  careful  to  assure 
him  was  not  altogether  up  to  their  standard. 
Dick  heaved  the  letter  into  the  Nile  at  Cairo, 
cashed  the  draft  in  the  same  town,  and  bade 
a  warm  farewell  to  Torpenhow  at  the  station. 

"  I  am  going  to  lie  up  for  a  while  and  rest/' 
said  Torpenhow.  "  I  don't  know  where  I 
shall  live  in  London,  but  if  God  brings  us  to 
meet,  we  shall  meet.  Are  you  staying  here 
on  the  off  chance  of  another  row  ?  There 
will  be  none  till  the  Southern  Soudan  is  re- 
occupied  by  our  troops.  Mark  that.  Good- 
by,  bless  3^ou,  come  back  when  your  money's 
spent  and  give  me  your  address." 

Dick  loitered  in  Cairo,  Alexandria,  Ish- 
mailia,  and  Port  Said — especially  Port  Said. 
There  is  iniquity  in   many  parts  of  the  world, 


The  Light  that  Failed        35 

and  vice  in  all,  but  the  concentrated  essence 
of  all  the  iniquities  and  all  the  vices  in  all  the 
continents  finds  itself  at  Port  Said.  And 
through  the  heart  of  that  sand-bordered  hell, 
where  the  mirage  flickers  all  day  long  above 
the  Bitter  Lakes,  move,  if  you  only  wait,  most 
of  the  men  and  women  you  have  known  in 
this  life.  Dick  established  himself  in  quarters 
more  riotous  than  respectable.  He  spent  his 
evenings  on  the  quay,  and  boarded  many  ships, 
and  saw  very  many  friends — gracious  English 
women  with  whom  he  had  talked  not  too 
wisely  in  the  veranda  of  Shephard's  Hotel, 
hurrying  war  correspondents,  skippers  of  the 
contract  troop  ships  employed  in  the  cam- 
paign, army  officers  by  the  score,  and  others 
of  less  reputable  trades.  He  had  choice  of 
all  the  races  of  the  East  and  West  for  studies, 
and  the  advantage  of  seeing  his  subjects  under 
the  influence  of  strong  excitement,  at  the 
gaming  tables,  saloons,  dancing  hells,  and 
elsewhere.  For  recreation  there  was  the 
straight  vista  of  the  canal,  the  blazing  sands, 
the  procession  of  shipping,  and  the  white 
hospitals  where  the  English  soldiers  lay.  Dick 
strove  to  pen  down  in  black  and  white  and 
colors  all  that  Providence  sent  him,  and  when 
that  supply  was  ended  sought  about  for  fresh 
material.  It  was  a  fascinating  employment, 
but  it  ran  away  with  his  money,  and  he  had 
drawn  in  advance  the  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  to  which  he  was  entitled  yearly. 
*'  Now    I    shall    have    to    work   or    starve  1 " 


36         The  Light  that  Failed 

thought  he,  and  was  addressing  hiinself  to 
this  new  fate,  when  the  mysterious  telegram 
arrived  from  Torpenhow  in  England  which 
said  :  "  Come  back,  quick;  you  have  caught 
on.  Come."  A  large  smile  overspread  his 
face.  "  So  soon  !  that's  good  hearing,"  said 
he  to  himself.  "There  will  be  an  orgy  to- 
night. I'll  stand  or  fall  by  my  luck.  'Faith, 
it's  time  it  came  !  "  He  deposited  half  of  his 
funds  in  the  hands  of  his  well-known  friends, 
IM.  and  ]^.Ime.  Binat,  and  ordered  himself  a 
Zanzibar  dance  of  the  finest.  M.  Binat  was 
shaking  with  drink,  but  madame  smiled  sym- 
pathetically, 

"  Monsieur  needs  a  chair,  of  course,  and 
of  course  monsieur  will  sketch ;  monsieur 
amuses  himself  strangely.'* 

Binat  raised  a  blue-white  face  from  a  cot 
in  the  inner  room.  "  I  understand,"  he 
quavered.  "We  all  know  monsieur — mon- 
sieur is  an  artist,  as  1  have  been.'^  Dick 
nodded.  "  In  the  end,"  said  Binat,  with 
gravity,  "  monsieur  will  descend  alive  into 
hell,  as  I  have  descended."     And  he  laughed, 

"  You  must  come  to  the  dance,  too,''  said 
Dick  •   "  I  shall  want  you." 

"  For  my  face  ?  I  knew  it  would  be  so. 
For  my  face  ?  My  God  !  and  for  my  degrada- 
tion so  tremendous!  I  will  not.  Take  him 
away.  He  is  a  devil.  Or  at  least  do  thou, 
Celeste,  demand  of  him  more/'  The  excellent 
Binat  began  to  kick  and  scream. 

"All  things  are  for  sale  in  Port  Said,"  said 


The  Light  that  Failed        37 

madame.  *'If  my  husband  comes  it  will  be 
so  much  more.  Eh,  'ow  you  call — 'alf  a 
sovereign." 

The  money  was  paid,  and  the  mad  dance 
came  off  that  night  in  the  walled  courtyard 
at  the  back  of  Mme.  Binat's  house.  The 
lady  herself,  in  faded  mauve  silk  always  about 
to  slide  from  her  yellow  shoulders,  played  the 
piano,  and  to  the  tin-pot  music  of  a  western 
waltz  the  naked  Zanzibar  girls  danced  furi- 
ously by  the  light  of  kerosene  lamps.  Binat 
sat  upon  a  chair  and  stared  with  eyes  that  saw 
nothing,  till  the  whirl  of  the  dance  and  the 
clang  of  the  rattling  piano  stole  into  the  drink 
that  took  the  place  of  blood  in  his  veins,  and 
his  face  glistened.  Dick  took  him  by  the 
chin  brutally  and  turned  that  face  to  the  light, 
?\Ime.  Binat  looked  over  her  shoulder,  and 
smiled  with  many  teeth.  Dick  leaned  against 
the  wall  and  sketched  for  an  hour,  till  the 
kerosene  lamps  began  to  smell,  and  the  girls 
threw  themselves  panting  on  the  hard-beaten 
ground.  Then  he  shut  his  book  with  a  snap 
and  moved  away,  Binat  plucking  feebly  at  his 
elbow.  *'  Show  me,'*  he  whimpered.  "  I, 
too,  was  once  an  artist,  even  I  ! "  Dick 
showed  him  the  rough  sketch.  "  Am  I  that  ?  " 
he  screamed.  "  Will  you  take  that  away 
with  you  and  show  all  the  world  that  it  is  I, 
Binat  ?  '*     He  moaned  and  wept. 

*'  Monsieur  has  paid  for  all,"  said  madame. 
"To  the  pleasure  of  seeing  monsieur  again." 

The  courtyard  gate  shut,  and  Dick  hurried 


38         The  Light  that  Failed 

up  the  sand}^  street  to  the  nearest  gambling- 
hell,  where  he  was  well  known.  "  If  the  luck 
holds,  it's  an  omen ;  if  I  lose,  I  must  stay 
here."  He  placed  his  money  picturesquely 
about  the  board,  hardly  daring  to  look  at 
what  he  did.  The  luck  held.  Three  turns  of 
the  wheel  left  him  richer  by  twenty  pounds, 
and  he  went  down  to  the  shipping  to  make 
friends  wath  the  captain  of  a  decayed  cargo 
steamer,  who  landed  him  in  London  with 
fewer  pounds  in  his  pocket  than  he  cared  to 
think  about, 

A  thin  gray  fog  hung  over  the  city,  and  the 
streets  were  very  cold ;  for  summer  was  in 
England. 

*'  It's  a  cheerful  wilderness,  and  it  hasn't 
the  knack  of  altering  much,"  Dick  thought,  as 
he  tramped  from  the  docks  westward.  "  Now, 
what  must  I  do  ?" 

The  packed  houses  gave  no  answer.  Dick 
looked  down  the  long  lightless  streets  and  at 
the  appalling  rush  of  traffic.  *'  Oh,  you  rabbit 
hutches  !  "  said  he,  addressing  a  70w  of  highly 
respectable  semi-detached  residences.  *'  Do 
you  know  what  you've  got  to  do  later  on  ? 
You  have  to  supply  me  with  men-servants  and 
maid-servants  " — here  he  smacked  his  lips — 
"  and  the  peculiar  treasure  of  kings.  Mean- 
time ril  get  clothes  and  boots,  and  presently 
I  will  return  and  trample  on  you. "  He  stepped 
forward  energetically;  he  saw  that  one  of  his 
shoes  was  burst  at  the  side.  As  he  stooped 
to  make  investigations  a  man  jostled  him  into 


The  Light  that  Failed        39 

the  gutter.  "All  right,"  he  said.  ''That's 
another  nick  in  the  score.  I'll  jostle  you 
later  on." 

Good  clothes  and  boots  are  not  cheap,  and 
Dick  left  his  last  shop  with  the  certainty  that 
he  would  be  respectably  arrayed  for  a  time, 
but  with  only  fifty  shillings  in  his  pocket.  He 
returned  to  streets  by  the  docks,  and  lodged 
himself  in  one  room,  where  the  sheets  on  4ne 
bed  were  almost  audibly  marked  in  case  of 
theft,  and  where  nobody  seemed  to  go  to  bed 
at  all.  When  his  clothes  arrived  he  sought 
the  Central  Southern  Syndicate  for  Torpen- 
how's  address,  and  got  it,  with  the  intimation 
that  there  was  still  some  money  owing  to 
him. 

"  How  much  ? "  said  Dick,  as  one  who 
habitually  dealt  in  millions. 

"  Between  thirty  and  forty  pounds.  If  it 
would  be  any  convenience  to  you,  of  course 
we  could  let  you  have  it  at  once,  but  we 
usually  settle  accounts  monthly. " 

"Iff  show  that  I  want  anything  now,  I'm 
lost,"  he  said  to  himself.  *'  All  I  need  I'll 
take  later  on."  Then,  aloud,  *' It's  hardly 
worth  while ;  and  I'm  going  into  the  country 
for  a  month,  too.  Wait  till  I  come  back,  and 
I'll  see  about  it." 

"  But  we  trust,  Mr.  Heldar,  that  you  do  not 
intend  to  sever  your  connection  with  us  ?  " 

Dick's  business  in  life  was  the  study  of 
faces,  and  he  watched  the  speaker  keenly. 
*'  That  man  means  something,"  he  said.     "  I'll 


40         The  Light  that  Failed 

do  no  business  till  IVe  seen  Torpenhow. 
There's  a  big  deal  coming."  So  he  departed, 
making  no  promises,  to  his  one  little  room  by 
the  docks.  And  that  day  was  the  seventh  of 
:he  month,  and  that  month,  he  reckoned  with 
awful  distinctness,  had  thirtv-one  days  in 
it! 

It  is  not  easy  for  a  man  of  catholic  tastes 
and  healthy  appetite  to  exist  for  twenty-four 
days  on  fifty  shillings.  Nor  is  it  cheering  to 
begin  the  experiment  alone  in  all  the  loneli- 
ness of  London.  Dick  paid  seven  shillings  a 
week  for  his  lodging,  which  left  him  rather 
less  than  a  shilling  a  day  for  food  and  drink. 
Naturally,  his  first  purchase  was  of  the  mate- 
rials of  his  craft  ;  he  had  been  without  them 
too  long.  Half  a  day's  investigation  and  com- 
parison brought  him  to  the  conclusion  that 
sausages  and  mashed  potatoes,  twopence  a 
plate,  were  the  best  food.  Now,  sausaj^es 
once  or  twice  a  week  for  breakfast  are  not 
unpleasant.  As  lunch,  even,  with  mashed 
potatoes,  they  become  monotonous.  As  din- 
ner they  are  impertinent.  At  the  end  of  three 
days  Dick  loathed  sausages,  and,  going  forth, 
pawned  his  watch  to  revel  on  sheep's  head, 
which  is  not  so  cheap  as  it  looks,  owing  to  the 
bones  and  the  gravy.  Then  he  returned  to 
sausages  and  mashed  potatoes.  Then  he 
confined  himself  entirely  to  mashed  potatoes 
for  a  day,  and  was  unhappy  because  of  pain 
in  his  inside.  Then  he  pawned  his  waistcoat 
and  his  tie,  and  thought  regretfully    of  money 


The  Light  that  Failed        41 

thrown  away  in  times  past.  There  are  few 
things  more  edifying  unto  art  than  the  actual 
belly-pinch  of  hunger,  and  Dick  in  his  few 
walks  abroad — he  did  not  care  for  exercise  ; 
it  raised  desires  that  could  not  be  satisfied — 
found  himself  dividing  mankind  into  two 
classes — those  who  looked  as  if  they  might  give 
him  something  to  eat,  and  those  who  looked 
otherwise.  "  I  never  knew  what  I  had  to 
learn  about  the  human  face  before,''  he 
thought,  and,  as  a  reward  for  his  humilit}^, 
Providence  caused  a  cab-driver  at  a  sausage 
shop  where  Dick  fed  that  night  to  leave  half 
eaten  a  great  chunk  of  bread.  Dick  took  it — ■ 
would  have  fought  all  the  world  for  its  pos- 
session— and  it  cheered  him. 

A  month  dragged  through  at  last,  and, 
fairly  prancing  with  impatience,  he  went  to 
draw  his  money.  Then  he  hastened  to  Tor* 
penhow'3  address,  and  smelled  the  smell  of 
cooking  meats  all  along  the  corridors  of  the 
chambers.  Torpenhow  was  on  the  top  floor, 
and  Dick  burst  into  his  room,  to  be  received 
with  a  hug  which  nearly  cracked  his  ribs  as 
Torpenhow  dragged  him  to  the  light  and  spoke 
of  twenty  different  things  in  the  same  breath. 

*'  But  you're  looking  tucked  up,"  he  con- 
cluded. 

"  Got  anything  to  eat  ?  "  said  Dick,  his  eye 
roaming  round  the  room. 

"  I  shall  be  having  breakfast  in  a  minute 
What  do  you  say  to  sausages  ?  " 

"No,    anything  but    sausages.     Torp,  IVe 


42         The  Light  that  Failed 

been  starving  on  that  accursed  horseflesh  for 
thirt}^  days  and  thirty  nights." 

"  Now  what  hinacy  has  been  your  latest  ? " 

Dick  spoke  of  the  last  few  weeks  with  un- 
bridled speech.  Then  he  opened  his  coat ; 
there  was  no  waistcoat  below.  "  1  ran  it 
fine,  awfully  fine,  but  I've  just  scraped 
through." 

"  You  haven't  much  sense,  but  you've  got 
a  backbone,  anyhow.  Eat,  and  talk  aftef- 
ward."  Dick  fell  upon  eggs  and  bacon  and 
gorged  till  he  could  gorge  no  more.  Tor- 
penhow  handed  him  a  filled  pipe,  and  he 
smoked  as  men  smoke  who  for  three  weeks 
have  been  deprived  of  good  tobacco. 

''Ouf!''  said  he.  "That's  heavenly. 
Well  ? " 

"  Why  in  the  world  didn't  you  come  to 
me?" 

"  Couldn't ;  I  owe  you  too  much  already, 
old  man.  Besides,  I  had  a  sort  of  supersti- 
tion that  this  temporary  starvation — that's 
what  it  was,  and  it  hurt — would  bring  me 
more  luck  later.  It's  over  and  done  with 
now,  and  none  of  the  syndicate  know  how 
hard  up  I  was.  Fire  away.  What's  the  ex- 
act state  of  affairs  as  regards  myself !  " 

"You  had  my  wire  ?  "  You've  caught  on 
here.  People  like  your  work  immensely.  I 
don't  know  why,  but  they  do.  They  say  you 
have  a  fresh  touch  and  a  new  way  of  drawing 
things.  And,  because  they  are  chiefly  home- 
bred   English,    they    say    you    have     insight. 


The  Light  that  Failed        43 

You're  wanted  by  half  a  dozen  papers  ;  you're 
wanted  to  illustrate  books." 

Dick  grunted  scornfully. 

"  You're  wanted  to  work  up  your  smaller 
sketches  and  sell  them  to  the  dealers.  They 
seem  to  think  the  money  sunk  in  you  is  a 
good  investment.  Good  Lord  !  who  can  ac- 
count for  the  fathomless  folly  of  the  public  ?  *' 

"  They're  a  remarkably  sensible  people." 

**  They  are  subject  to  fits,  if  that's  what 
you  mean  ;  and  you  happen  to  be  the  object 
of  the  latest  fit  among  those  who  are  inter- 
ested in  what  they  call  Art.  Just  now  you're 
a  fashion,  a  phenomenon,  or  whatever  you 
please.  I  appeared  to  be  the  only  person  who 
knew  anything  about  you  here,  and  I  have 
been  showing  the  most  useful  men  a  few  of 
the  sketches  you  gave  me  from  time  to  time. 
Those  coming  after  your  work  on  the  Central 
Southern  Syndicate  appear  to  have  done  your 
business.     You're  in  luck." 

"  Huh  !  call  it  luck  !  do  call  it  luck.  When 
a  man  has  been  kicking  about  the  world  like 
a  dog  waiting  for  it  to  come.  I'll  luck  'em 
later  on.      I  want  a  place  to  work  in  first." 

"  Come  here,"  said  Torpenhow,  crossing  the 
landing.  "  This  place  is  a  big  box-room  really, 
but  it  will  do  for  you.  There's  your  skylight, 
or  your  north  light,  or  whatever  window  you 
call  it,  and  plenty  of  room  to  slash  about  in, 
and  a  bedroom.     What  more  do  you  want  ?" 

*'  Good  enough,*'  said  Dick,  looking  round 
the  large  room  that  took  up  a  third  of  a  top 


44         The  Light  that  Failed 

story  in  the  rickety  chambers  overlooking  the 
Thames.  A  pale  yellow  sun  shone  through 
the  skylight  and  showed  the  much  dirt  of  the 
place.  Three  steps  led  from  the  door  to  the 
landing,  and  three  more  to  Torpenhow's  room. 
The  well  of  the  staircase  disappeared  into 
darkness,  pricked  by  tiny  gas-jets,  and  there 
were  sounds  of  men  talking  and  doors  slam- 
ming seven  flights  below,  in  the  warm  gloom. 

'•  Do  they  give  you  a  free  hand  here  ?  "  said 
Dick,  cautiously.  He  was  Ishmael  enough 
to  know  the  value  of  liberty. 

"  Anything  you  like  :  latch  keys  and  license 
unlimited.  We  are  permanent  tenants  for  the 
most  part  here.  'Tisn't  a  place  I  would  rec« 
ommend  for  a  Young  Men's  Christian  Asso- 
ciation, but  it  will  serve.  I  took  these  rooms 
for  you  when  I  wired." 

"  You're  a  great  deal  too  kind,  old  man.'* 

'*  You  didn't  suppose  you  were  going  away 
from  me,  did  you  }  "  Torpenhow  put  his  hand 
on  Dick's  shoulder,  and  the  two  walked  up 
and  down  the  room,  henceforw^ard  to  be 
called  the  studio,  in  sweet  and  silent  com- 
munion. They  heard  rapping  at  Torpenhow's 
door.  **  That's  some  ruffian  come  up  for  a 
drink,"  said  Torpenhow  ;  and  he  raised  his 
voice  cheerily.  There  entered  no  one  more 
ruffianly  than  a  portly  middle-aged  gentleman 
in  a  satin-faced  frock  coat.  His  lips  were 
parted  and  pale,  and  there  were  deep  pouches 
under  the  eyes. 

"  Weak  heart,"  said  Dick  to  himself,  and, 


The  Light  that  Failed        45 

as  he  shook  hands,  "  very  weak  heart.  His 
pulse  is  shaking  his  fingers.'' 

The  man  introduced  himself  as  the  head  of 
the  Central  Southern  Syndicate,  and  "  one  of 
the  most  ardent  admirers  of  your  work,  Mn 
Heldar.  I  assure  you,  in  the  name  of  the 
syndicate,  that  we  are  immensely  indebted  to 
you  !  and  I  trust,  Mr.  Heldar,  you  won't  for- 
get that  we  were  largely  instrumental  in  bring- 
ing  you  before  the  public."  He  panted  be- 
cause of  the  seven  flights  of  stairs. 

Dick  glanced  at  Torpenhow,  whose  left 
eyelid  lay  for  a  moment  dead  on  his  cheek. 

"  I  sha'n't  forget,"  said  Dick,  every  instinct 
of  defense  roused  in  him.  "You've  paid  me 
so  well  that  I  couldn't,  you  know.  By  the 
way,  when  I  am  settled  in  this  place  I  should 
like  to  send  and  get  my  sketches.  There 
must  be  nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  of  thenj 
with  you." 

"  That  is  er — is  what  I  came  to  speak  about, 
I  fear  we  can't  allow  it  exactly,  Mr.  Heldar. 
In  the  absence  of  any  specified  agreement, 
the  sketches  are  our  property,  of  course." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going  to 
keep  them  ?" 

"Yes;  and  we  hope  to  have  your  help,  on 
your  own  terms,  Mr.  Heldar,  to  assist  us  in 
arranging  a  little  exhibition  which,  backed  by 
our  name  and  the  influence  we  naturally  com- 
mand among  the  press,  should  be  of  material 
service  to  you.     Sketches  such  as  yours " 

*'  Belong  to  me.     You  engaged  me  by  wire, 


46         The  Light  that  Failed 

you  paid  me  the  lowest  rates  you  dared.  Yqu 
can't  mean  to  keep  the.*ii  t  Good  God  aliVe, 
man,  they're  all  I've  got  in  the  world ! " 

Torpenhow  watched  Dick's  face  and  whis- 
tled. Dick  walked  up  and  down,  thinking. 
He  saw  the  whole  of  his  little  stock  in  trade, 
the  first  weapon  of  his  equipment,  annexed  at 
the  outset  of  his  campaign  by  an  elderly  gen- 
tleman whose  name  Dick  had  not  caught 
aright,  who  said  that  he  represented  a  syndi- 
cate, which  was  a  thing  for  which  Dick  had 
not  the  least  reverence.  The  injustice  of  the 
proceedings  did  not  much  move  him ;  he  had 
seen  the  strong  hand  prevail  too  often  in 
other  places  to  be  squeamish  over  the  moral 
aspects  of  right  and  wrong.  But  he  ardently 
desired  the  blood  of  the  gentleman  in  the 
frock  coat,  and  when  he  spoke  again  it  was 
with  a  strained  sweetness  that  Torpenhow 
knew  well  for  the  beginning  of  strife. 

"  Forgive  me,  sir,  but  you  have  no — no 
younger  man  who  can  arrange  this  business 
with  me  ?" 

"  I  speak  for  the  syndicate.  I  see  no  reason 
for  a  third  party  to " 

"You  will  in  a  minute.  Be  good  enough  to 
give  back  my  sketches." 

The  man  stared  blankly  at  Dick  and  then 
at  Torpenhow,  who  was  leaning  against  the 
wall.  He  was  not  used  to  ex-employees  who 
ordered  him  to  be  good  enough  to  do  things. 

"  Yes,  it  is  rather  a  cold-blooded  steal," 
said  Torpenhow,  critically,  "  but  I'm  afraid,  I 


The  Light  that  Failed        4; 

am  very  much  afraid,  you've  struck  the  wrong 
man.  Be  careful,  Dick.  Remember,  this  isn'i 
the  Soudan." 

"  Considering  what  services  the  syndicate 
have  done  you  in  putting  your  name  before  thi 
world " 

This  was  not  a  fortunate  remark ;  it  remindec 
Dick  of  certain  vagrant  years  lived  out  in  lone 
liness  and  strife  and  unsatisfied  desires.  Tht 
memory  did  not  contrast  well  with  the  pros 
perous  gentleman  who  proposed  to  enjoy  the 
fruit  of  those  years. 

"  I  don't  know  quite  what  to  do  with  you,' 
began  Dick,  meditatively.  "  Of  course  you're 
a  thief  and  you  ought  to  be  half  killed,  but  in 
your  case  you'd  probably  die.  I  don't  wani 
you  dead  on  this  floor,  and,  besides,  it's  un- 
lucky just  as  one's  moving  in.  Don't  hit,  sir; 
you'll  only  excite  yourself."  He  put  one  hanc 
on  the  man's  forearm  and  the  other  down  the 
plump  body  beneath  the  coat.  "  My  good- 
ness !  "  said  he  to  Torpenhow,  *'  and  thisgra) 
oaf  dares  to  be  a  thief  1  I  have  seen  an  Esnet 
camel-driver  have  the  black  hide  taken  off  hij 
body  in  strips  for  stealing  half  a  pound  of  wet 
dates,  and  he  was  as  tough  as  whip-cord 
This  thing's  soft  all  over — like  a  woman." 

There  are  few  things  more  poignantly  hu- 
miliating than  being  handled  by  a  man  whc 
does  not  intend  to  strike.  The  head  of  the 
syndicate  began  to  breathe  heavily.  Dicli 
walked  around  him,  pawing  him  as  a  cat  paws 
a   soft  hearthrug.     Then  he  traced  with  his 


48 


The  Light  that  Failed 


forefinger  the  leaden  pouches  underneath  the 
eyes,  and  shook  his  head.  '*  You  were  going 
to  steal  my  things — mine,  mine,  mine  ! — you, 
who  don^t  know  when  you  may  die.  Write  a 
note  to  your  office — you  say  you're  the  head 
of  it — and  order  them  to  give  Torpenhow  my 
sketches — every  one  of  them.  Wait  a  minute 
' — your  hand's  shaking.  Now  !  "  He  thrust 
a  pocketbook  before  him.  The  note  was 
written.  Torpenhow  took  it  and  departed 
without  a  word,  while  Dick  walked  round  and 
round  the  spell-bound  captive,  giving  him 
such  advice  as  he  conceived  best  for  the  wel- 
fare of  his  soul.  When  Torpenhow  returned 
with  a  gigantic  portfolio,  he  heard  Dick  say, 
almost  soothingly,  ''  Now,  I  hope  this  will 
be  a  lesson  to  you  ;  and  if  you  worry  me 
when  I  have  settled  down  to  work  with  any 
nonsense  about  actions  for  assault,  believe  me, 
I'll  catch  you  and  man-handle  you,  and  you'll 
die.  You  haven't  very  long  to  live,  anyhow. 
Go  Imshi,  Vootsak — get  out !  "  The  man  de- 
parted, staggering  and  dazed.  Dick  drew  a 
long  breath.  "  Phew  !  what  a  lawless  lot  these 
people  are  !  The  first  thing  a  poor  orphan 
meets  is  gang  robbery,  organized  burglary ! 
Think  of  the  hideous  blackness  of  that  man's 
mind  !     Are  my  sketches  all  right,  Torp  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  one  hundred  and  forty-seven  of  them. 
Well,  I  must  ?,3.y,  Dick,  you've  begun  well." 

"  He  was  interfering  with  me.  It  only  meant 
a  few  pounds  to  him,  but  it  was  everything  to 
me,     I  don't  think  he'll  bring  an  action.     I 


The  Light  that  Failed        49 

gave  him  some  medical  advice  gratis  about 
the  state  of  his  body.  It  was  cheap  at  the 
little  flurry  it  cost  him.     Now  let's  look." 

Two  minutes  later  Dick  had  thrown  himself 
down  on  the  floor  and  was  deep  in  the  port- 
folio, chuckling  lovingly  as  lie  turned  the 
drawings  over  and  thought  of  the  price  at 
which  they  had  been  bought. 

The  afternoon  was  well  advanced  when 
Torpenhow  came  to  the  door  and  saw  Dick 
dancing  a  wild  saraband  under  the  skylight. 

"  I  builded  better  than  I  knew,  Torp,"  he 
said,  without  stopping  the  dance.  *'  They're 
good  !  They're  damned  good  !  They'll  go 
like  flame  !  I  shall  have  an  exhibition  of  them 
on  my  own  brazen  hook.  And  that  man  would 
have  cheated  me  out  of  it !  Do  you  know  that 
I'm  sorry  now  that  I  didn't  actually  hit 
him  ?  " 

"Go  out,"  said  Torpenhow — •' go  out  and 
pray  to  be  delivered  from  the  sin  of  arrogance, 
which  you  never  will  be.  Bring  your  things 
up  from  whatever  place  you're  staying  in,  and 
we'll  try  to  make  tliis  barn  a  little  more  ship- 
shape." 

"  And  then — oh,  then,"  said  Dick,  stiil 
capering,  "  we  will  spoil  the  Egyptians  I  " 


so         The  Light  that  Failed 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  wolf  cub  at  even  lay  hid  in  the  com, 
When  the  smoke  of  the  cooking  hung  gray: 

He  knew  where  the  doe  made  a  couch  for  her  fawn, 
And  he  looked  to  his  strength  for  his  prey. 
But  the  moon  swept  the  smoke  wreaths  away. 

And  he  turned  from  his  meal  in  the  villager's  close, 

And  he  bayed  to  the  moon  as  she  rose. 

In  Seonee. 

-*  Well,  and  how  does  success  taste  ?  "  said 
forpenhow,  some  three  months  later.  He  hnd 
just  returned  to  chambers  after  a  holiday  in 
the  country. 

"Good,"  said  Dick,  as  he  sat  licking  his 
lips  before  the  easel  in  the  studio.  "  I  want 
more — heaps  more.  The  lean  years  have 
passed,  and  I  approve  of  these  fat  ones." 

"Be  careful,  old  man.  That  way  lies  bad 
work." 

Torpenhow  was  sprawling  in  a  long  chair 
with  a  small  fox-terrier  asleep  on  his  chest, 
while  Dick  was  preparing  a  canvas.  A  dais, 
a  background,  and  a  lay-figure  were  the  only 
fixed  objects  in  the  place.  They  rose  from  a 
wreck  of  oddments  that  began  with  felt-covered 
water  bottles,  belts,  and  regimental  badges, 
and  ended  with  a  small  bale  of  second-hand 
uniforms  and  a  stand  of  mixed  arms.  'I'he 
mark  of  muddy  feet  on  the  dais  showed  that 
a  military  model  had  just  gone  away.     The 


The  Light  that  Failed        51 

watery  autumn  sunlight  was  failing,  and 
shadows  sat  in  the  corners  of  the  studio. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick,  deliberately,  "  I  like  the 
power ;  I  like  the  fun  ;  I  like  the  fuss ;  and 
above  all  I  like  the  money.  I  almost  like  the 
people  who  make  the  fuss  and  pay  the  money. 
Almost.  But  they're  a  queer  gang — an  amaz- 
ingly queer  gang  !  " 

•'  They  have  been  good  enough  to  you,  at 
any  rate.  That  tin-pot  exhibition  of  your 
sketches  must  have  paid.  Did  you  see  that 
the  papers  called  it  the  '  Wild  Work  Show  '  ?  " 

^'  Never  mind.  I  sold  every  shred  of  canvas 
I  wanted  to  ;  and,  on  my  word,  I  believe  it 
was  because  they  believed  I  was  a  self-taught 
flagstone  artist.  I  should  have  got  better 
prices  if  I  had  worked  my  things  on  wool  or 
scratched  them  on  camel-bone  instead  of  using 
mere  black  and  white  and  color.  Verily,  they 
are  a  queer  gang,  these  people.  Limited  isn't 
the  word  to  describe  'em.  1  met  a  fellow  the 
other  day  who  told  me  that  it  was  impossible 
that  shadows  on  white  sand  should  be  blue — 
ultra-marine — as  they  are.  I  found  out,  later, 
that  that  man  had  been  as  far  as  Brighton 
beach  ;  but  he  knew  all  about  Art,  confound 
him.  He  gave  me  a  lecture  on  it,  and  recom- 
mended me  to  go  to  school  to  learn  technique. 
I  wonder  what  old  Kami  would  have  said  to 
that." 

"  When  were  you  under  Kami,  man  of  ex- 
traordinary beginnings  ?  " 

"  I  studied  with  him  for  two  years  in  Paris. 


52         The  Light  that  Failed 

He  taught  by  personal  magnetism.  All  he 
ever  said  was,  '  Conthiuez,  mes  e?ifants,'  and 
you  had  to  make  the  best  you  could  of  that. 
He  had  a  divine  touch,  and  he  knew  some- 
thing about  color.  Kami  used  to  dream  colon 
I  swear  he  could  never  have  seen  the  genuine 
article  ;  but  he  evolved  it ;  and  it  was  good." 

•■'  Recollect  some  of  those  views  in  the 
Soudan  ? "  said  Torpenhow,  with  a  provoking 
drawl. 

Dick  squirmed  in  his  place.  "  Don't.  It 
makes  me  want  to  get  out  there  again.  What 
color  that  was  !  Opal  and  umber  and  amber 
and  claret  and  brick-red  and  sulphur — cocka- 
too-crest sulphur — against  brown,  with  a  nig^ 
ger-black  rock  sticking  up  in  the  middle  of  it 
all,  and  a  decorative  frieze  of  camels  festoon- 
ing  in  front  of  a  pure  pale-turquois  sky." 
He  began  to  walk  up  and  down.  "  And  yet, 
you  know,  if  you  try  to  give  these  people  the 
thing  as  God  gave  it  keyed  down  to  their  com- 
prehension and  according  to  the  powers  He 
has  given  you " 

'*  Modest  man  !     Go  on.'* 

"  Half  a  dozen  epicene  young  pagans  who 
haven't  even  been  to  Algiers  will  tell  you,  first, 
that  37our  notion  is  borrowed,  and,  secondly, 
that  it  isn't  Art." 

"  This  comes  of  my  leaving  town  for  a 
month.  Dickie,  you've  been  promenading 
among  the  toy  shops  and  hearing  people 
talk." 

*' I  couldn't  help  it,"  said  Dick,  penitently. 


The  Light  that  Failed        53 

**You  weren't  here,  and  it  was  lonely  these 
long  evenings.      A  man  can't  work  forever." 

"  A  man  might  have  gone  to  a  pub.  and  got 
decently  drunk." 

"  I  wish  I  had  ;  but  I  foregathered  with 
some  men  of  sorts.  They  said  they  were 
artists,  and  I  knew  some  of  them  could  draw 
— but  they  wouldn't  draw.  They  gave  me 
tea — tea  at  five  in  the  afternoon  ! — and  talked 
about  Art  and  the  state  of  their  souls.  As  if 
their  souls  mattered.  I've  heard  more  about 
Art  and  seen  less  of  her  in  the  last  six  months 
than  in  the  whole  of  my  life  !  Do  you  re- 
member Cassavetti,  who  worked  for  some  con- 
tinental syndicate,  out  with  the  desert  column  ? 
He  was  a  regular  Christmas-tree  of  contrap- 
tions when  he  took  the  field  in  full  fig,  with 
his  water  bottle,  lanyard,  revolver,  writing- 
case,  housewife,  gig  lamps,  and  the  Lord 
knows  what  all.  He  used  to  fiddle  about  with 
*em  and  show  us  how  they  worked,  but  he 
never  seemed  to  do  much  except  fudge  his 
reports  from  the  Nilghai.     See?" 

"  Dear  old  Nilghai  !  He's  in  town,  fatter 
than  ever.  He  ought  to  be  up  here  this  even- 
ing. I  see  the  comparison  perfectly.  You 
should  have  kept  clear  of  all  that  man-mil- 
linery. Serves  you  right ;  and  I  hope  it  will 
unsettle  your  mind." 

"  It  won't.  It  has  taught  me  what  Art — 
holy,  sacred  Art — means." 

"  You've  learned  something  while  I've  been 
away.     What  is  Art  ?  " 


54         The  Light  that  Failed 

"  Give  'em  what  you  know,  and  when  you've 
done  it  once  do  it  again."  Dick  dragged 
forward  a  canvas  laid  face  to  the  wall. 
"  Here's  a  sample  of  real  art.  It's  going  to  be 
a  fac-simile  reproduction  for  a  weekly.  I 
called  it  *  His  Last  Shot.'  It's  worked  up 
from  the  little  water  color  I  made  outside  El 
Maghrib.  Well,  I  lured  my  model,  a  beauti- 
ful rifleman,  up  here  with  drink  ;  I  drored 
him,  and  I  redrored  him,  and  I  tredrored  him, 
and  I  made  him  a  flushed,  disheveled,  be- 
deviled scalawag,  with  his  helmet  at  the  back 
of  his  head,  and  the  living  fear  of  death  in  his 
eye,  and  the  blood  oozing  out  of  a  cut  over 
his  ankle-bone.  He  wasn't  pretty,  but  he  was 
all  soldier  and  very  much  man." 

"  Once  more,  modest  child  !  " 

Dick  laughed.  ''  Well,  it's  only  to  you  I'm 
talking.  I  did  him  just  as  well  as  I  knew  how, 
making  allowance  for  the  slickness  of  oils. 
Then  the  art  manager  of  that  abandoned  paper 
said  that  his  subscribers  wouldn't  like  it.  It 
was  brutal  and  coarse  and  violent — man 
being  naturally  gentle  when  he's  fighting  for 
his  life.  They  wanted  something  more  rest- 
ful, with  a  little  more  color.  I  could  have 
said  a  good  deal,  but  you  might  as  well  talk  to 
a  sheep  as  an  art  manager.  I  took  my  '  Last 
Shot' back.  Behold  the  result!  I  put  him 
into  a  lovely  red  coat  without  a  speck  on  it. 
That's  art.  I  polished  his  boots— observe 
the  high  light  on  the  toe.  That's  art.  I 
cleaned  his  rifle — rifles    are  always  clean  on 


The  Light  that  Failed        55 

service — because  that  is  art.  I  pipecla3'ed  his 
hehnet — pipeclay  is  always  used  on  active 
service,  and  is  indispensable  to  art.  I  shaved 
]iis  chin,  1  washed  his  hands,  and  gave  him  an 
air  of  fatted  peace.  Result,  military  tailor's 
pattern  plate.  Price,  thank  Heaven,  twice  as 
much  as  for  the  first,  which  was  moderately 
decent." 

*'  And  do  you  suppose  you're  going  to  give 
that  thing  out  as  your  work  ?  " 

"  Why  not .?  I  did  it.  Alone  I  did  it,  in 
the  interests  of  sacred,  home-bred  art  and 
*  Dickenson's  Weekly.'" 

Torpenhow  smoked  in  silence  for  a  while. 
Then  came  the  verdict,  delivered  from  rolling 
clouds:  "If  you  were  only  a  mass  of  blather- 
ing vanity,  Dick,  I  wouldn't  mind — I'd  let  you 
go  to  the  deuce  on  your  own  mahlstick  ;  but 
vvhen  I  consider  what  you  are  to  me,  and 
when  I  find  that  to  vanity  you  add  the  two- 
penny-halfpenny pique  of  a  twelve-year-old 
s^irl,  then  I  bestir  myself  in  vour  behalf. 
Thus !  " 

The  canvas  ripped  as  Torpenhow's  booted 
foot  shot  through  it,  and  the  terrier  jumped 
down,  thinking  rats  were  about. 

*'  If  you  have  any  bad  language  to  use,  use 
it.  You  have  not.  I  continue.  You  are  an 
idiot,  because  no  man  born  of  woman  is  strong 
enough  to  take  liberties  with  his  public,  even 
though  they  be — which  they  ain't — all  you  say 
they  are." 

*'  But   they  don't  know  any  better.     What 


56         The  Light  that  Failed 

can  5'ou  expect  from  creatures  born  and  bred 
in  this  light  ? "  Dick  pointed  to  the  yellow 
(eg.  **  If  they  want  furniture  polish  let  them 
have  furniture  polish,  so  long  as  they  pay  for 
it.  They  are  only  men  and  women.  You 
talk  as  though  they  were  gods." 

"  That  sounds  very  fine,  but  it  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  case.  They  are  the  people 
you  have  to  work  for,  whether  you  like  it  ot 
.•not.  They  are  your  masters.  Don't  be  de- 
ceived, Dickie.  You  aren't  strong  enough  to 
trifle  with  them — or  with  yourself,  which  is 
more  important.  Moreover — come  back, 
Binkie — that  red  daub  isn't  going  anywhere  ; 
unless  you  take  precious  good  care  you  will 
fall  under  the  damnation  of  the  check-book, 
and  that's  worse  than  death.  You  will  get 
drunk — you're  half  drunk  already — on  easily 
acquired  money.  For  that  money  and  your 
own  infernal  vanity  you  are  willing  to  deliber- 
ately turn  out  bad  work.  You'll  do  quite 
enough  bad  work  without  knowing  it.  And, 
Dickie,  as  I  love  you  and  as  I  know  you  love 
me,  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  cut  oK  your 
nose  to  spite  your  face  for  all  the  gold  in  Eng- 
land.    That's  settled.     Now  swear." 

*'  Don't  know,"  said  Dick.  "  I've  been 
trying  to  make  myself  angry,  but  I  can't,  you're 
so  abominably  reasonable.  There  will'  be  a 
row  on  '  Dickenson's  Weekly,'  I  fancy." 

*'  Why  the  D'ckenson  do  you  want  to  work 
on  a  weekly  paper?  It's  slow  bleeding  ol 
power,*' 


The  Light  that  Failed        57 

"  It  brings  in  the  very  desirable  dollars,*" 
said  Dick,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

Torpenhow  watched  him  with  large  con- 
tempt. "  Why,  I  thought  it  was  a  man !  " 
said  he.      "  It's  a  child." 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  said  Dick,  wheeling  quickly. 
^  You've  no  notion  what  the  certainty  of  cash 
means  to  a  man  who  has  always  wanted  it 
badly.  Nothing  will  pay  me  for  some  of  my 
life's  joys  ;  and  that  Chinese  pig-boat,  for  in- 
stance, when  we  eat  bread  and  jam  for  every 
meal,  because  Ho-Wang  wouldn't  allow  us 
anything  better,  and  it  all  tasted  of  pig- 
Chinese  pig.  I've  worked  for  this,  I've 
sweated  and  I've  starved  for  this,  line  on  line 
and  month  after  month.  And  now  I've  got 
it  I  am  going  to  make  the  most  of  it  while  it 
lasts.     Let  them  pay.    They've  no  knowledge.'* 

*'  What  does  your  majesty  please  to  want? 
You  can't  smoke  more  than  you  do ;  you  won't 
drink;  you're  a  gross  feeder  ;  and  you  dress 
in  the  dark,  by  the  look  of  you.  You  wouldn't 
keep  a  horse  the  other  day  when  I  suggested, 
because  you  said  it  might  fall  lame,  and  when 
ever  you  cross  the  street  you  take  a  hansom. 
Even  you  are  not  foolish  enough  to  suppose 
that  theaters  and  all  the  live  things  you  can 
buy  thereabouts  mean  life.  What  earthly 
need  have  you  for  money  ?  *' 

*'  It's  there,  bless  its  golden  heart,"  said 
Dick.  **  It's  there  all  the  time.  Providence 
has  sent  me  nuts  while  I  have  teeth  to  crack 
'em  with.     I  haven't  vet  found  the  nut  I  wish 


S8         The  Light  that  Failed 

to  crack,  but  I'm  keeping  my  teeth  filled. 
Perhaps  some  day  you  and  I  will  go  for  a  walk 
round  the  wide  earth. " 

"  With  no  work  to  do,  nobody  to  worry  us, 
and  nobody  to  compete  with,  you  would  be 
unfit  to  speak  to  in  a  week.  Besides,  I 
shouldn't  go.  I  don't  care  to  profit  by  the 
price  of  a  man's  soul — for  that's  what  it  would 
mean.  Dick,  it's  no  use  arguing.  You're  a 
fool.'* 

*'  Don't  see  it.  When  I  was  on  that  Chinese 
pig-boat,  our  captain  got  enormous  credit  for 
saving  about  twenty-five  thousand  very  sea- 
sick little  pigs,  when  our  old  tramp  of  a 
steamer  fell  foul  of  a  timber  junk.  Now,  tak- 
ing those  pigs  as  a  parallel — " 

*'  Oh,  confound  your  parallels  !  Whenever 
I  try  to  improve  your  soul,  you  always  drag 
in  some  irrelevant  anecdote  from  your  very 
shady  past.  Pigs  aren't  the  British  public. 
Credit  on  the  high  seas  isn't  credit  here,  and 
self-respect  is  self-respect  all  the  world  over. 
Go  out  for  a  walk  and  try  to  catch  some  self- 
respect.  And,  I  say,  if  the  Nilghai  comes  up 
this  evening  can  I  show  him  your  diggings  ? " 

"  Surely.  You'll  be  asking  whether  you 
must  knock  at  my  door  next."  And  Dick  de- 
parted, to  take  counsel  with  himself  in  the 
rapidly  gathering  London  fog. 

Half  an  hour  after  he  had  left,  the  Nilghai 
labored  up  the  staircase.  He  was  the  chiefest 
as  he  was  the  hugest  of  the  war  correspond- 
ents,  and   his    experiences    dated    from    the 


The  Light  that  Failed        59 

birth  of  the  needle-gun.  Saving  only  his  ally, 
Keneu  the  Great  War  Eagle,  there  was  no 
man  mightier  in  the  craft  than  he,  and  he 
always  opened  his  conversation  with  the  news 
that  there  would  be  trouble  in  the  Balkans  in 
the  spring.     Torpenhow  laughed  as  he  entered. 

"  Never  mind  the  trouble  in  the  Balkans. 
Those  little  States  are  always  screeching. 
You've  heard  about  Dick's  luck  .? " 

"  Yes  ;  he  has  been  called  up  to  notoriety, 
hasn't  he  ?  I  hope  you  keep  him  properly 
humble.  He  wants  suppressing  from  time  to 
time." 

"He  does.  He's  beginning  to  take  liberties 
with  what  he  thinks  is  his  reputation.'^ 

"Already!  By  Jove,  he  has  cheek!  I 
don't  know  about  his  reputation,  but  he'll 
come  a  cropper  if  he  tries  that  sort  of  thing. " 

"  So  I  told  him.  I  don'r  think  he  believes 
it." 

'^They  never  do  when  they  first  start  off. 
What's  that  wreck  on  the  ground  there  ?  " 

"  Specimen  of  his  latest  impertinence." 
Torpenhow  thrust  the  torn  edges  of  the  canvas 
together,  and  showed  the  well-groomed  picture 
to  the  Nilghai,  who  looked  at  it  for  a  moment 
and  then  whistled. 

"  It's  a  chromo,"  said  he,  "  a  chromo-lith- 
oleomargarine  fake  !  What  possessed  him  to 
do  it?  And  yet  how  thoroughly  he  has  caught 
the  note  that  catches  a  public  who  think  with 
their  boots  and  read  with  their  elbows  !  The 
cold-blooded    insolence  of  the  work    almost 


6o        The  Light  that  Failed 

saves  it;  but  he  mustn't  go  on  with  this. 
Hasn't  he  been  praised  and  cockered  up  too 
much?  You  know  these  people  here  have  no 
sense  of  proportion.  They'll  catch  him  a 
second  Detaille  and  a  third-hand  Meissonier 
while  his  fashion  lasts.  It's  windy  diet  for  a 
colt." 

*'  I  don't  think  it  affects  Dick  much.  You 
might  as  well  call  a  young  wolf  a  lion,  and 
expect  him  to  take  the  compliment  in  exchange 
for  a  shin-bone.  Dick's  soul  is  in  the  bank. 
He's  working  for  cash." 

"  Now  he  has  thrown  up  war  work,  I  suppose 
he  doesn't  see  that  the  obligations  of  the 
service  are  just  the  same,  only  the  proprietors 
are  changed." 

*'  How  should  he  know  ?  He  thinks  he  is 
his  own  master." 

"Does  he?  I  could  undeceive  him  for  his 
good  if  there's  any  virtue  in  print.  He  wants 
the  whip  lash." 

"Lay  it  on  with  science,  then.  I'd  flay 
him  myself,  but  I  "like  him  too  much." 

"I've  no  scruples.  He  had  the  audacity  to 
try  to  cut  me  out  with  a  woman  at  Cairo  once, 
I  forgot  that,  but  I  remember  now." 

"  Did  he  cut  you  out  ? " 

"  You'll  see  when  I  have  dealt  with  him  ; 
but,  after  all,  what's  the  good?  Leave  him 
alone  and  he'll  come  home,  if  he  has  any  stuff 
in  him,  dragging  or  wagging  his  tail  behind 
him.  There's  more  in  a  week  of  life  than  in 
a  lively  weekly.     None  the  less  I'll  slate  him. 


The  Light  that  Failed        6i 

I'll  slate  him  ponderously  in  the  *  Cata- 
clysm.' " 

"  Good  luck  to  you  !  But  I  fancy  nothing 
short  of  a  crowbar  would  make  Dick  wince. 
His  soul  seems  to  have  been  fired  before  we 
came  across  him.  He's  intensely  suspicious 
and  utterly  lawless.'* 

"  Matter  of  temper,"  said  the  Nilghai.  *'  It's 
the  same  with  horses.  Some  you  wollop  and 
they  work;  some  you  wollop  and  they  jibC; 
and  some  you  wollop  and  they  go  out  for  a 
walk  with  their  hands  in  their  pockets." 

"That's  exactly  what  Dick  has  done/'  said 
Torpenhow.  *'  Wait  till  he  comes  back.  In 
the  meantime,  you  can  begin  your  slating  herCc 
I'll  show  you  some  of  his  last  and  worst  work 
in  his  studio." 

Dick  had  instinctively  sought  running  water 
for  a  comfort  to  his  mood  of  mind.  He  wag 
leaning  over  the  Embankment  wall,  watching 
the  rush  of  the  Thames  through  the  arches  of 
Westminster  Bridge.  He  began  by  thinking 
of  Torpenhow's  advice,  but,  as  of  custom,  lost 
himself  in  the  study  of  the  faces  flocking  by^ 
Some  had  death  written  on  their  features,  and 
Dick  marveled  that  they  could  laugh.  OtherSj 
clumsy  and  coarse-built  for  the  most  partj 
were  alight  with  love  ;  others  were  merely 
drawn  and  lined  with  w^ork  ;  but  there  was 
something,  Dick  knew,  to  be  made  out  oi 
them  all.  The  poor  at  least  should  suffer 
that  he  might  learn,  and  the  rich  should  pay 
for    the    output   of   his   learning.      Thus  his 


62         The  Light  that  Failed 

credit  in  the  world  and  his  cash  balance  at 
the  bank  would  be  increased.  So  much  the 
better  for  him.  He  had  suffered.  Now  he 
would  take  toll  of  the  ills  of  others. 

The  fog  was  driven  apart  for  a  moment,  and 
the  sun  shone,  a  blood-red  wafer,  on  the 
water.  Dick  watched  the  spot  till  he  heard 
the  voice  of  the  tide  between  the  piers  die 
down  like  the  wash  of  the  sea  at  low  tide.  A  girl 
hard  pressed  by  her  lover  shouted  shame- 
lessly, "Ah,  get  away,  you  beast!"  and  a 
shift  of  the  same  wind  that  had  opened  the  fog 
drove  across  Dick's  face  the  black  smoke  of  a 
river  steamer  at  her  berth  below  the  wall.  He 
was  blinded  for  the  moment,  then  spun  round 
and  found  himself  face  to  face    with — Maisie. 

There  was  no  mistaking.  The  years  had 
turned  the  child  to  a  woman,  but  they  had  not 
altered  the  dark-gray  eyes,  the  thin  scarlet 
lips,  or  the  firmly  modeled  mouth  and  chin  ; 
and,  that  all  should  be  as  it  was  of  old,  she 
wore  a  closely  fitting  gray  dress. 

Since  the  human  soul  is  infinite  and  not  in 
the  least  under  its  own  command,  Dick, 
advancing,  said,  "  Halloo  !  "  after  the  manner 
of  schoolboys,  and  Maisie  answered,  "  Oh, 
Dick,  is  that  you?"  Then,  against  his  will, 
and  before  the  brain,  newly  released  from 
considerations  of  the  cash  balance,  had  time 
to  dictate  to  the  nerves,  every  pulse  of  Dick's 
body  throbbed  furiously  and  his  palate  dried 
in  his  mouth.  The  fog  shut  down  again,  and 
Maisie's  face  was  pearl  white  through  it.     No 


The  Light  that  Failed        63 

word  was  spoken,  but  Dick  fell  into  step  at 
her  side,  and  the  two  paced  the  Embankment 
together,  keeping  the  step  as  perfectly  as  in 
their  afternoon  excursions  to  the  mud-flats. 
Then  Dick,  a  little  hoarsely  : 

"  What  has  happened  to  Amomma  ?  " 

"  He  died,  Dick.  Not  cartridges  ;  over- 
eating. He  was  always  greedy.  Isn't  it 
funny?" 

^'  Yes.      No.     Do  you  mean  Amomma  ?  " 

"Ye — es.  No.  This.  Where  have  you 
come  from  ?  " 

"  Over  there."  Dick  pointed  eastward 
through  the  fog.     *'  And  you  .''  " 

'*  Oh,  I'm  in  the  north — the  black  north, 
across  all  the  park.     I  am  very  busy." 

"  What  do  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  paint.     That's  all  I  have  to  do. " 

"Why,  what's  happened?  You  had  three 
hundred  a  year." 

"  I  have  that  still.    I  am  painting  ;  that's  all." 

"  Are  you  alone,  then  ?  " 

"  There's  a  girl  living  with  me.  Don*t 
walk  so  fast,  Dick ;  you're  out  of  step." 

''  Then  you  noticed  it,  too  ? " 

'^Of  course.     You're  always  out  of  step." 

"  So  I  am.  I'm  sorry.  You  went  on  with 
the  painting  ?" 

"  Of  course.  I  said  I  should.  I  was  at  the 
Slade,  then  at  Morton's  in  St.  John's  Wood, 
the  big  studio,  then  I  pepper-potted — I  mean 
I  went  to  the  National — and  now  I'm  working 
under  Kami." 


64        The  Light  that  Failed 

"  But  Kami  is  in  Paris,  surely  ?  " 

"  No  ;  he  has  his  teaching  studio  at  Vitry- 
sur-Marne.  I  work  with  him  in  the  summer, 
and  I  live  in  London  in  the  winter.  I'm  a 
householder." 

"  Do  you  sell  much  ? " 

*'  Now  and  again,  but  not  often.  There  is 
my  'bus.  I  must  take  it  or  lose  half  an  hour. 
Good-by,   Dick." 

"Good-by,  Maisie.  Won't  you  tell  me 
where  you  live  ?  I  must  see  you  again  ;  and 
perhaps  I  could  help  you.  I  paint  a  little  my- 
self." 

"  I  may  be  in  the  park  to-morrow,  if  there  is 
no  working  light.  I  walk  from  the  Marble 
Arch  down  and  back  again  ;  that  is  my  little  ex- 
cursion. But  of  course  I  shall  see  you  again." 
She  stepped  into  the  omnibus  and  was  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  fog. 

"Well — I — am — damned!"  said  Dick,  and 
returned  to  his  chambers. 

Torpenhow  and  the  Nilghai  found  him  sitting 
on  the  steps  of  the  studio  door,  repeating  the 
phrase  with  awful  gravity. 

"You'll  be  more  damned  when  I've  done 
with  you,"  said  the  Nilghai,  upheaving  his  bulk 
from  behind  Torpenhow's  shoulder  and  waving 
a  sheaf  of  half-dry  manuscript.  "  Dick,  it  is  of 
common  report  that  you  are  suffering  from 
swelled  head." 

"  Halloo,  Nilghai.  Back  again?  How  are 
the  Balkans  and  all  the  little  Balkans  ?  One 
side  of  your  face  is  out  of  drawing,  as  usual." 


The  Light  that  Failed        65 

^'  Never  mind  that.  I  am  commissioned  to 
smite  you  in  print.  Torpenhow  refuses  from 
false  delicacy.  I've  been  overhauling  the 
pot-boilers  in  your  studio.  They  are  simply 
disgraceful. " 

"  Oho  !  that's  it,  is  it  ?  If  you  think  you 
can  slate  me,  you're  wrong.  You  can  only 
describe,  and  you  need  as  much  room  to  turn 
in,  on  paper,  as  a  P.  &  O.  cargo-boat.  But 
continue,  and  be  swift.     I'm  going  to  bed." 

*'  H'm  !  h'm  !  h'm  !  The  first  part  only 
deals  with  your  pictures.  Here's  the  perora- 
tion :  *  For  work  done  without  conviction,  for 
power  wasted  on  trivialities,  for  labor  ex- 
pended with  levity  for  the  deliberate  purpose 
of  winning  the  easy  applause  of  a  fashion- 
driven  public — '  " 

"That's  'His  Last  Shot,'  second  edition- 
Go  on." 

"  *  Public.  There  remains  but  one  end — the 
oblivion  that  is  preceded  by  toleration  and 
cenotaphed  with  contempt.  From  that  fate 
Mr.  Heldar  has  yet  to  prove  himself  out  of 
danger.'" 

"  Wow — wow — wow — wow  !  "  said  Dick, 
profanely.  "  It's  a  clumsy  ending  and  vile 
journalese,  but  it's  quite  true.  And  yet  " — 
he  sprung  to  his  feet  and  snatched  at  the  manu- 
script— "you  scarred,  deboshed,  battered  old 
gladiator!  You're  sent  out  when  a  war  begins 
to  minister  to  the  blind  brutal  British  public's 
bestial  thirst  for  blood.  They  have  no  arenas 
now,  but  they  must  have  special  correspond- 
5 


66        The  Light  that  Failed 

ents.  You're  a  fat  gladiator  who  comes  up 
through  a  trap-door  and  talks  of  what  he's 
seen.  You  stand  on  precisely  the  same  level 
as  an  energetic  bishop,  an  affable  actress,  a 
devastating  cyclone,  or — mine  own  sweet  self. 
And  you  presume  to  lecture  me  about  my 
work  1  Nilghai,  if  it  were  worth  while,  I'd 
caricature  you  in  four  papers." 

The  Nilghai  winced.  He  had  not  thought 
of  this. 

"  As  it  is,  I  shall  take  this  stuff  and  tear  it 
small — so  !  "  The  manuscript  fluttered  in 
slips  down  the  dark  well  of  the  staircase. 
"  Go  home,  Nilghai,"  said  Dick,  "go  home  to 
your  lonely  little  bed  and  leave  me  in  peace. 
I  am  about  to  turn  in  till  to-morrow." 

"Why,  it  isn't  seven  yet!"  said  Torpen- 
how  with  amazement. 

"  It  shall  be  two  in  the  morning,  if  I 
choose,"  said  Dick,  backing  to  the  studio  door. 
"  I  go  to  grapple  with  a  serious  crisis,  and  I 
sha'n't  want  any  dinner." 

The  door  shut  and  was  locked. 

"What  can  you  do  with  a  man  like  that?" 
said  the  Nilghai. 

"  Leave  him  alone.  He's  as  mad  as  a 
hatter." 

At  eleven  there  was  kicking  on  the  studio 
door.  "Is  the  Nilghai  with  you  still?  "  said 
a  voice  from  within.  "  Then  tell  him  he 
might  have  condensed  the  whole  of  his  lum- 
bering nonsense  into  an  epigram  :  '  Only  the 
free  are  bond,  and   only  the  bond  are  free.' 


The  Light  that  Failed        67 

Tell  him  he's  an  idiot,  Torp,  and  tell  him  I'm 
another." 

"  All  right.  Come  out  and  have  suppen 
You're  smoking  on  an  empty  stomach." 

There  was  no  answer. 


68        The  Light  that  Failed 


CHAPTER  V. 

**  I  have  a  thousand  men,"  said  he, 

"  To  wait  upon  my  will, 
And  towers  nine  upon  the  Tyne. 

And  three  upon  the  Till." 

"  And  what  care  I  for  your  men,"  said  she, 

"  Or  towers  from  Tyne  to  Till, 
Sith  you  must  go  with  me,"  she  said, 

**  To  wait  upon  my  will  ?  " 

Sir  Hoggie  and  the  Fairies. 

Next  morning  Torpenhow  found  Dick  sunk 
in  deepest  repose  of  tobacco. 

"Well,  madman,  how  d'you  feel?" 
"I  don't  know.      I'm  trying  to  find  out." 
"  You  had  much  better  do  some  work." 
"  Maybe;  but  I'm  in  no  hurry.     I've  made 
a  discovery.     Torp,  there's  too   much  Ego  in 
my  Cosmos." 

"  Not  really  !  Is  this  revelation  due  to  my 
lectures  or  the  Nilghai's  ?" 

"  It  came  to  me  suddenly,  all  on  my  own 
account.  Much  too  much  Ego  ;  and  now  Fm 
going  to  work." 

He  turned  over  a  few  half-finished  sketches, 
drummed  on  a  new  canvas,  cleaned  three 
brushes,  set  Binkie  to  bite  the  toes  of  the  lay 
figure,  rattled  through  his  collection  of  arms 
and  accouterments,  and  then  went  out,  declar- 
ing that  he  had  done  enough  for  the  day. 


The  Light  that  Failed        69 

"This  is  positively  indecent,"  said  Torpen- 
how,  *'  and  the  first  time  that  Dick  has  ever 
broken  up  a  Hght  morning.  Perhaps  he  has 
found  out  that  he  has  a  soul,  or  an  artistic 
temperament,  or  something  equally  valuable. 
That  comes  of  leaving  him  alone  for  a  month. 
Perhaps  he  has  been  going  out  of  evenings. 
I  must  look  to  this."  He  rang  for  the  bald- 
headed  old  housekeeper,  whom  nothing  could 
astonish  or  annoy. 

"  Beeton,  did  Mr.  Heldar  dine  out  at  all 
while  I  was  out  of  town  ?  " 

"  Never  laid  'is  dress  clothes  out  once,  sir, 
all  the  time.  Mostly  'e  dined  in;  but  *e 
brought  some  most  remarkable  fancy  young 
gentlemen  up  'ere  after  theaters  once  or  twice. 
Remarkable  fancy  they  was.  You  gentlemen 
on  the  top  floor  does  very  much  as  you  likes, 
but  it  do  seem  to  me,  sir,  droppin'  a  walkin* 
stick  down  five  flights  of  stairs  an'  then  goin' 
down  four  abreast  to  pick  it  up  again  at  half- 
past  two  in  the  morning,  singing  '  Bring  back 
the  whisky,  Willie  darling' — not  once  or 
twice,  but  scores  o'  times — isn't  charity  to  the 
other  tenants.  What  I  say  is,  '  Do  as  you 
would  be  done  by.'      That's  my  motto." 

"  Of  course,  of  course  !  I'm  afraid  the  top 
floor  isn't  the  quietest  in  the  house." 

"  I  make  no  complaints,  sir.  I  have  spoke 
to  Mr.  Heldar,  friendly,  an'  he  laughed  an' 
did  me  a  picture  of  the  missis  that  is  as  good 
as  a  colored  print.  It  'asn't  the  'igh  shine  of 
a  photograph,  but  what  I  say  is  :  '  Never  look 


70        The  Light  that  Failed 

a   gift   horse    in  the  mouth.'      Mr.  Heldar's 
dress  clothes  'aven't  been  on  him  for  weeks." 

*'Then  it's  all  right,"  said  Torpenhow  to 
himself.  "  Orgies  are  healthy,  and  Dick  has  a 
head  of  his  own,  but  when  it  comes  to  women 
making  eyes,  I'm  not  so  certain.  Binkie,  never 
you  be  a  man,  little  dorglums.  They're  con- 
trary brutes,  and  do  things  without  reason." 

Dick  had  turned  northward  across  the  park, 
but  he  was  walking  in  the  spirit  on  the  mud- 
flats with  IMaisie.  He  laughed  aloud  as  he 
remembered  the  day  when  he  had  decked 
Amomma's  horns  with  the  ham  frills,  and 
Maisie,  white  with  rage,  had  cuffed  him. 
How  long  those  four  years  had  been,  and  how 
intimately  Maisie  was  connected  with  every 
hour  of  them  !  Storm  across  the  sea,  and 
Maisie  in  a  gray  dress  on  the  beach,  sweeping 
her  drenched  hair  out  of  her  eyes  and  laugh- 
ing at  the  homeward  race  of  the  fishing 
smacks  ;  hot  sunshine  on  the  mud-flats,  and 
Maisie  flying  before  the  wind  that  threshed 
the  foreshore  and  drove  the  sand  like  small 
shot  about  her  ears  ;  Maisie,  very  composed 
and  independent,  telling  lies  to  Mrs.  Jennett, 
while  Dick  supported  her  with  coarser  per- 
juries ;  Maisie  picking  her  way  delicately  from 
stone  to  stone,  a  pistol  in  her  hand  and  her 
teeth  firm  set,  and  Maisie  in  a  gay  dress  sit- 
ting on  the  grass  between  the  mouth  of  a  can- 
non and  a  nodding  yellow  sea-poppy.  The 
pictures  passed  before  him  one  by  one,  and 
the  last  stayed  the   longest.     Dick  was  per- 


The  Light  that  Failed        71 

fectly  happy  with  a  quiet  peace  that  was  as 
new  to  his  mind  as  it  was  foreign  to  his  ex- 
perience. It  never  occurred  to  him  that  there 
might  be  other  calls  upon  his  time  than  loaf- 
ing across  the  park  in  the  forenoon. 

"  There's  a  good  working  light  now,"  he 
said,  watching  his  shadow  placidly.  "  Some 
poor  devil  ought  to  be  grateful.  And  there's 
Maisie!  " 

She  was  walking  toward  him  from  the 
Marble  Arch,  and  he  saw  that  no  mannerism 
of  her  gait  had  been  changed.  It  was  good 
to  find  her  still  Maisie,  and,  so  to  speak,  his 
next-door  neighbor.  No  greeting  passed  be- 
tween them,  because  there  had  been  none  in 
the  old  days. 

"  What  are  you  doing  out  of  your  studio  at 
this  hour  }  "  said  Dick,  as  one  who  was  en- 
titled to  ask. 

"  Idling.  Just  idling.  I  got  angry  with  a 
chin  and  scraped  it  out.  Then  I  left  it  in  a 
little  heap  of  paint  chips  and  came  away.*' 

"  I  know  what  palette-knifing  means. 
What  was  the  piccy  ?" 

"  A  fancy  head  that  wouldn't  come  right — 
horrid  thing  !  " 

"  I  don't  like  working  over  scraped  paint 
when  I'm  doing  flesh.  The  grain  comes  up 
woolly  as  the  paint  dries." 

"Not  if  you  scrape  properly."  Maisie 
waved  her  hand  to  illustrate  her  methods. 
There  was  a  dab  of  paint  on  the  white  cuff, 
Dick  laughed. 


72        The  Light  that  Failed 

**  You*re  as  untidy  as  ever." 

"  That  comes  well  from  you.  Look  at  your 
own  cuff." 

"  By  Jove,  yes  !  It's  worse  than  yours.  I 
don't  think  we've  much  altered  in  anything. 
Let's  see,  though."  He  looked  at  Maisie 
critically.  The  pale-blue  haze  of  an  autumn 
day  crept  between  the  tree  trunks  of  the  park 
and  made  a  background  for  the  gray  dress,  the 
black  velvet  toque  above  the  black  hair,  and 
the  resolute  profile. 

**No,  there's  nothing  changed.  How  good 
it  is !  D'you  remember  when  I  fastened  your 
hair  into  the  snap  of  a  hand-bag  ?  " 

Maisie  nodded,  with  a  twinkle  in  her  eyes, 
and  turned  her  full  face  to  Dick. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  he.  *'That  mouth 
is  down  at  the  corners  a  little.  Who's  been 
worrying  you,  Maisie  ?  " 

"  No  one  but  myself.  I  never  seem  to  get 
on  with  my  work,  and  yet  I  try  hard  enough, 
and  Kami  says " 

*'  *  Conti7iuez^  ines demoiselles,  Contitiiiez  ton- 
Jours,  mes  enfajits.*  Kami  is  depressing.  I 
beg  3^our  pardon." 

"  Yes,  that's  what  he  says.  He  told  me 
last  summer  that  I  was  doing  better,  and  he'd 
let  me  exhibit  this  year." 

"  Not  in  this  place,  surely  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not.     The  Salon." 

"You  fly  hicrh." 

"I've  been  beating  my  wings  long  enough. 
Where  do  you  exhibit,  Dick  ? " 


The  Light  that  Failed        73 

«I  don't  exhibit.     I  sell." 

*  *  What  is  your  line,  then  .>  '* 

"  Haven't  you  heard  ?  "  Dick's  eyes  opened. 
Was  this  thing  possible?  He  cast  about  for 
some  means  of  conviction.  They  were  not 
far  from  the  Marble  Arch.  "  Come  up  Oxford 
Street  a  little  and  I'll  show  you." 

A  small  knot  of  people  stood  round  a  print- 
shop  that  Dick  knew  well.  "  Some  reproduc- 
tion of  my  work  inside,"  he  said,  with  sup- 
pressed triumph.  Never  had  success  tasted 
so  sweet  upon  the  tongue.  "  You  see  the 
sort  of  things  I  paint.      D'you  like  them  ?  " 

Maisie  looked  at  tjie  wild  whirling  rush  of 
a  field  battery  going  into  action  under  fire. 
Two  artillery  men  stood  behind  her  in  the 
crowd. 

**  They've  chucked  off  lead  'orse,"  said  one 
to  the  other.  '*  'E's  tore  up  awful,  but  they're 
making  good  time  with  the  others.  That 
lead  driver  drives  better  nor  you,  Tom. 
See  'ow  cunning  'e's  nursin'  'is  *orse." 

*'  Number  Three'U  be  off  the  limber  next 
jolt,"  was  the  answer. 

"  No,  'e  won't.  See  'ow  'is  foot's  braced 
against  the  iron.     'E's  all  right." 

Dick  watched  Maisie's  face  and  swelled 
with  joy — fine,  rank,  vulgar  triumph.  She 
was  more  interested  in  the  little  crowd  than  in 
the  picture.  That  was  something  that  she 
could  understand. 

*'  And  I  wanted  it  so  !  Oh,  I  did  want  it 
so  ! "  she  said  at  last,  under  her  breath. 


74        The  Light  that  Failed 

"  Me — all  me !  '*  said  Dick,  placidly, 
*'  Look  at  their  faces.  It  hits  'em.  They 
don't  know  what  makes  their  eyes  and  mouths 
open  ;  but  I  know.  And  I  know  my  work's 
right." 

"  Yes,  I  see.  Oh,  what  a  thing  to  have 
come  to  one  !  " 

"  Come  to  one,  indeed  !  I  had  to  go  out 
and  look  for  it.      What  do  you  think  .?  " 

"  I  call  it  success.  Tell  me  how  you  got 
it." 

They  returned  to  the  park,  and  Dick  de- 
livered himself  of  the  Saga  of  his  own  doings 
with  all  the  arrogance  of  a  young  man  speak- 
ing to  a  woman.  From  the  beginning  he  told 
the  tale,  the  I — I — I's  flashing  through  the 
records  as  telegraph  poles  fly  past  the  traveler. 
Maise  listened  and  nodded  her  head.  The 
histories  of  strife  and  privation  did  not  move 
her  a  hair's-breadth.  At  the  end  of  each 
canto  he  would  conclude,  "  And  that  gave  me 
some  notion  of  handling  color,"  or  light,  or 
whatever  it  might  be  that  he  had  set  out  to 
pursue  and  understand.  He  led  her  breathless 
across  half  the  world,  speaking  as  he  had 
never  spoken  in  his  life  before.  And  in  the 
flood-tide  of  his  exaltation  there  came  upon 
him  a  great  desire  to  pick  up  this  maiden  who 
nodded  her  head  and  said,  '*!  understand. 
Go  on  " — to  pick  her  up  and  carry  her  away 
with  him,  because  she  was  jMaisie,  and  because 
she  understood,  and  because  she  was  his  right, 
and  a  woman  to  be  desired  above  all  women. 


The  Light  that  Failed        75 

Then  he  checked  himself  abruptly.  "  And 
so  I  took  all  I  wanted,"  he  said,  "  and  I  had 
to  fight  for  it.      Now  you  tell." 

Maisie's  tale  was  almost  as  gray  as  her  dress. 
It  covered  years  of  patient  toil  backed  by 
savage  pride  that  would  not  be  broken  though 
dealers  laughed,  and  fogs  delayed  work,  and 
Kami  was  unkind  and  even  sarcastic,  and  girls 
in  other  studios  were  painfully  polite.  It  had 
a  few  bright  spots — pictures  accepted  at  pro- 
vincial exhibitions — but  it  wound  up  with  the 
oft-repeated  wail,  "And  so  you  see,  Dick,  I 
had  no  success,  though  I  worked  so  hard." 

Then  pity  filled  Dick.  Even  thus  had  Maisie 
spoken  when  she  could  not  hit  the  breakwater, 
half  an  hour  before  she  had  kissed  him.  And 
that  had  happened  yesterday. 

*'  Never  mind,"  said  he.  "  I'll  tell  you  some- 
thing if  you'll  believe  it.'*  The  words  were 
shaping  themselves  of  their  own  accord, 
*'  The  whole  thing,  lock,  stock,  and  barrel,  isn't 
worth  one  big  yellow  sea-poppy  below  Fort 
Keeling." 

Maisie  flushed  a  little.  "  It's  all  very  well 
for  you  to  talk,  but  you've  had  the  success 
and  I  haven't." 

*'  Let  me  talk,  then.  I  know  you'll  under- 
stand, Maisie  dear,  it  sounds  a  bit  absurd,  but 
those  ten  years  never  existed,  and  I've  come 
back  again.  It  really  is  just  the  same.  Can't 
you  see  ?  You're  alone  now  and  I'm  alonCc 
What's  the  use  of  worrying }  Come  to  me 
instead,  darlino:. " 


76        The  Light  that  Failed 

Maisie  poked  the  gravel  with  her  parasol. 
They  were  sitting  on  a  bench.  *'I  under- 
stand/' she  said,  slowly.  "  But  I've  got  my 
work  to  do,  and  I  must  do  it." 

"  Do  it  with  me,  then,  dear,  I  won't  in- 
terrupt." 

*'  No,  I  couldn't.  It's  my  work — mine — 
mine — mine  !  I've  been  alone  all  my  life  in 
myself,  and  I'm  not  going  to  belong  to  any- 
body except  myself.  I  remember  things  as 
well  as  you  do,  but  that  doesn't  count.  We 
were  babies  then,  and  we  didn't  know  what 
was  before  us.  Dick,  don't  be  selfish.  I  think 
I  see  my  way  to  a  little  success  next  year. 
Don't  take  it  away  from  me." 

"  I  beg  3^our  pardon,  darling.  It  is  my  fault 
for  speaking  idiotically.  I  can't  expect  you  to 
throw  up  all  your  life  just  because  I'm  back. 
I'll  go  to  my  own  place  and  wait  a  little." 

"  But,  Dick,  I  don't  want  you  to — go — out 
of — my  life,  now  that  you've  just  come  back." 

"  I'm  at  your  orders.  Forgive  me. "  Dick 
devoured  the  troubled  little  face  with  his  eyes. 
There  was  triumph  in  them,  because  he  could 
not  conceive  how  Alaisie  could  refuse  sooner 
or  later  to  love  him,  since  he  loved  her. 

"  It's  wrong  of  me,"  said  Maisie,  more 
slowly  than  before.  "It's  wrong  and  selfish; 
but — oh,  I've  been  so  lonely  !  No,  you  mis- 
understand. Now  I've  seen  you  again — it's 
absurd,  but  I  want  to  keep  you  in  my  life.^' 

"Naturally.     We  belong." 

"  We  don't ;  but  you  always  understood  me, 


The  Light  that  Failed        77 

and  there  is  so  much  in  my  work  that  you 
could  help  me  in.  You  know  things,  and  the 
ways  o!  doing  things.     You  must." 

"  I  do,  I  fancy,  or  else  I  don't  know  myself. 
Then  I  suppose  you  won't  care  to  lose  sight 
of  me  altogether,  and  you  want  me  to  help  you 
in  your  work  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  remember,  Dick,  nothing  will 
ever  come  of  it.  That's  why  I  feel  so  selfish. 
Let  things  stay  as  they  are.  I  do  want  your 
help." 

**  You  shall  have  it.  But  let's  consider,  I 
must  see  your  pics  first,  and  overhaul  your 
sketches,  and  find  out  about  your  tendencies. 
You  should  see  what  the  papers  say  about  my 
tendencies.  Then  I'll  give  you  good  advice, 
and  you  shall  paint  according.  Isn't  that  it, 
Maisie  ?  " 

Again  there  was  unholy  triumph  in  Dick's 
eye. 

'*  It's  too  good  of  you — much  too  good. 
Because  you  are  consoling  yourself  with  what 
will  never  happen,  and  I  know  that,  and  yet 
I  wish  to  keep  you.  Don't  blame  me  later, 
please." 

"I'm  going  into  the  matter  with  my  eyes 
open.  Moreover,  the  queen  can  do  no  wrong. 
It  isn't  your  selfishness  that  impresses  me.. 
It's  your  audacity  in  proposing  to  make  use  of 
me." 

**Pooh!  You're  only  Dick — and  a  print 
shop." 

'*  Very  good.    That's  all  I  am.     But,  Maisie, 


78         The  Light  that  Failed 

you  believe,  don't  you,  that  I  love  you  ?  I 
don't  want  you  to  have  any  false  notions  about 
brothers  and  sisters." 

Maisie  looked  up  for  a  moment  and  dropped 
her  eyes. 

"  It's  absurd,  but — I  believe,  I  wish  I  could 
send  you  away  before  you  get  angry  with  me. 
But — but  the  girl  that  lives  with  me  is  red- 
haired  and  an  impressionist,  and  all  our 
notions  clash." 

*'  So  do  ours,  I  think.  Never  mind.  Three 
months  from  to-day  we  shall  be  laughing  at 
this  together." 

Maisie  shook  her  head  mournfully.  "  I 
knew  you  wouldn't  understand,  and  it  will 
only  hurt  you  more  when  you  find  out.  Look 
at  my  face,  Dick,  and  tell  me  what  you  see." 

They  stood  up  and  faced  each  other  for  a 
moment.  The  fog  was  gathering,  and  it  stifled 
the  roar  of  the  traffic  of  London  beyond  the 
railings.  Dick  brought  all  his  painfully  ac- 
quired knowledge  of  faces  to  bear  on  the  eyes, 
mouth,  and  chin  underneath  the  black  toque. 

"  It's  the  same  Maisie,  and  it's  the  same 
me,"  he  said.  "We've  both  nice  little  wills 
of  our  own,  and  one  or  other  of  us  has  to  be 
broken.  Now  about  the  future.  I  must  come 
and  see  your  picture  some  day — I  suppose 
when  the  red-haired  girl  is  on  the  premises." 

"  Sundays  are  my  best  times.  You  must 
come  on  Sundays.  There  are  such  heaps  of 
things  I  want  to  talk  about  and  ask  your  ad- 
vice about.     Now  I  must  get  back  to  work." 


The  Light  that  Failed        79 

"Try  to  fina  out  before  next  Sunday  v.'hat 
I  am,"  said  Dick.  "  Don't  take  my  word  for 
anything  I've  told  you.  Good-by,  darling, 
and  bless  you." 

Maisie  stole  away  like  a  little  gray  mouse, 
Dick  watched  her  till  she  was  out  of  sight, 
but  he  did  not  hear  her  say  to  herself  very 
soberly  :  "  I'm  a  wretch — a  horrid,  selfish 
wretch.  But  it's  Dick,  and  Dick  will  under- 
stand." 

No  one  has  yet  explained  what  actually 
happens  when  an  irresistible  force  meets  the 
immovable  post,  though  many  have  thought 
deeply,  even  as  Dick  thought.  He  tried  to 
assure  himself  that  Maisie  would  be  led  in  a 
few  weeks  by  his  mere  presence  and  discourse 
to  a  better  way  of  thinking.  Then  he  re- 
membered much  too  distinctly  her  face  and  all 
that  was  written  on  it. 

*'  If  I  know  anything  of  heads,"  he  said, 
"  there's  everything  in  that  face  but  love.  I 
shall  have  to  put  that  in  myself;  and  that 
chin  and  mouth  won't  be  won  for  nothing. 
But  she's  right.  She  knows  what  she  wants, 
and  she's  going  to  get  it.  What  insolence  ! 
Me  !  Of  ail  the  people  in  the  wide  world  to 
use  me  !  But  then  she's  Maisie.  There's  no 
getting  over  that  fact;  and  it's  good  to  see 
her  again.  This  business  must  have  been 
simmering  at  the  back  of  my  head  for  years. 
.  .  .  She'll  use  me  as  I  used  Binat  at  Port 
Said.  She's  quite  right.  It  will  hurt  a  little. 
I  shall  have  to  see  her  every  Sunday — like  a 


8o        The  Light  that  Failed 

young  man  courting  a  housemaid.  She's  sure 
to  come  round ;  and  yet — that  mouth  isn't  a 
yielding  mouth.  I  shall  be  wanting  to  kiss 
her  all  the  time,  and  I  shall  have  to  look  at 
her  pictures — I  don't  even  know  what  sort  of 
work  she  does  yet — and  I  shall  have  to  talk 
about  art — woman's  art !  Therefore,  partic- 
uliarly  and  perpetually  damn  all  varieties  of 
art.  It  did  me  a  good  turn  once,  and  now  it's 
in  my  way.      I'll  go  home  and  do  some  art." 

Half-way  to  the  studio  Dick  was  smitten 
with  a  terrible  thought.  The  figure  of  a  soli- 
tary woman  in  the  fog  suggested  it. 

*'  She's  all  alone  in  London  with  a  red- 
haired  impressionist  girl,  who  probably  has 
the  digestion  of  an  ostrich.  Most  red-haired 
people  have.  Maisie's  a  bilious  little  body. 
They'll  eat  like  lone  women — meals  at  all 
hours,  and  tea  with  all  meals.  I  remember 
how  the  students  in  Paris  used  to  pig  along. 
She  may  fall  ill  at  any  minute,  and  I  shan't 
be  able  to  help.  Whew  !  this  is  ten  times 
worse  than  owning  a  wife.'* 

Torpenhow  came  into  the  studio  at  dusk, 
and  looked  at  Dick  with  his  eyes  full  of  the 
austere  love  that  springs  up  between  men 
who  have  tugged  at  the  same  oar  together  and 
are  yoked  by  custom  and  use  and  the,  intima- 
cies of  toil.  This  is  a  good  love,  and,  since 
it  allows,  and  even  encourages,  strife,  recrimi- 
nation, and  the  most  brutal  sincerity,  does 
not  die,  but  increases,  and  is  proof  against  any 
absence  and  evil  conduct. 


The  Light  that  Failed        8i 

Dick  was  silent  after  he  handed  Torpenhow 
the  filled  pipe  of  council.  He  thought  of 
Maisie  and  her  possible  needs.  It  was  a  new 
thing  to  think  of  anybody  but  Torpenhow,  who 
could  think  for  himself.  Here  at  last  was  an 
outlet  for  that  cash  balance.  He  could  adorn 
Maisie  barbarically  with  jewelry — a  thick  gold 
necklace  round  that  little  neck,  bracelets  upon 
the  rounded  arms,  and  rings  of  price  upon  her 
hands — the  cool,  temperate,  ringless  hands 
that  he  had  taken  between  his  own.  It  was 
an  absurd  thought,  for  Maisie  would  not  even 
allow  him  to  put  one  ring  on  one  finger,  and 
she  would  laugh  at  golden  trappings.  It 
would  be  better  to  sit  with  her  quietly  in  the 
dusk,  his  arm  round  her  neck  and  her  face  on 
his  shoulder,  as  befitted  husband  and  wife. 
Torpenhow's  boots  creaked  that  night  and  his 
strong  voice  jarred.  Dick's  brows  contracted, 
and  he  murmured  an  evil  word  because  he  had 
taken  all  his  success  as  a  right  and  part  pay- 
ment for  past  discomfort,  and  now  he  was 
checked  in  his  stride  by  a  woman  who  admitted 
all  the  success  and  did  not  instantly  care  for 
him. 

"^  I  say,  old  man,"  said  Torpenhow,  who  had 
made  one  or  two  vain  attempts  at  conversation, 
*'  I  haven't  put  your  back  up  by  anything  IVe 
said  lately,  have  I  ?  " 

*'  You  !     No.     How  could  you  ?  " 

"  Liver  out  of  order  ?  " 

"  The  truly  healthy  man  doesn't  know 
he  has  a  liver.  Tm  only  a  bit  worried 
6 


82         The  Light  that  Failed 

about  things  in  general.  I  suppose  it's  my 
soul." 

"  The  truly  healthy  man  doesn't  know  he 
has  a  soul.  What  business  have  you  with 
luxuries  of  that  kind  .'* " 

"  It  came  of  itself.  Who's  the  man  who 
says  that  we're  all  islands  shouting  lies  to 
each  other  across  seas  of  misunderstanding  ?  " 

*'  He's  right,  whoever  he  is — except  about 
the  misunderstanding.  I  don't  think  we  could 
misunderstand  each  other," 

The  blue  smoke  curled  back  from  the  ceil- 
ing in  clouds.   Then  Torpenhow,  insinuatingly : 

"  Dick,  is  it  a  woman  ?  " 

"Be  hanged  if  it's  anything  remotely  re- 
sembling a  woman  ;  and  if  you  begin  to  talk 
like  that  I'll  hire  a  red  brick  studio  with  white 
paint  trimmings,  and  begonias  and  petunias 
and  blue  Hungarians  to  play  among  the  three- 
and  sixpenny  pot  palms,  and  I'll  mount  all  my 
pics  in  aniline  dye  plush  plasters,  and  I'll  in- 
vite every  woman  who  yelps  and  maunders 
and  moans  over  what  her  guide  books  tell  her 
is  art,  and  you  shall  receive  'em,  Torp — in  a 
snuff-brown  velvet  coat  with  yellow  trousers 
and  an  orange  tie.     You'll  like  that." 

"  Too  thin,  Dick.  It's  no  business  of  mine, 
but  it's  comforting  to  think  that  somewhere 
under  the  stars  there's  saving  up  for  you  a 
tremendous  thrashing.  Whether  it'll  come 
from- heaven  or  earth,  I  don't  know,  but  it's 
bound  to  come  and  break  you  up  a  little. 
You  want  hammering." 


The  Light  that  Failed        83 

Dick  shivered.  "All  right,"  said  he. 
"When  this  island  is  disintegrated  it  will 
call  for  you." 

"  I  shall  come  round  the  corner  and  help  to 
disintegrate  it  some  more.  We're  talking 
nonsense.     Come  along  to  a  theater." 


84         The  Light  that  Failed 


CHAPTER  VI. 

•  And  you  may  lead  a  thousand  men, 
Nor  ever  draw  the  rein  ; 
But  ere  ye  lead  the  Faery  Queen 
'Twill  burst  your  heart  in  twain." 

He  has  slipped  his  foot  from  the  stirrup  bar, 

The  bridle  from  his  hand, 
And  he  is  bound  by  hand  and  foot 

To  the  Queen  o'  Faeryland. 

Sir  Hoggie  and  the  Fairies, 

Some  weeks  later,  on  a  very  foggy  Sunday, 
Dick  was  returning  across  the  park  to  his 
studio.  "  This,"  he  said,  "  is  evidently  the 
thrashing  that  Torp  meant.  It  hurts  more 
than  I  expected;  but  the  queen  can  do  no 
wrong,  and  she  certainly  has  some  notion  of 
drawing.'' 

He  had  just  finished  a  Sunday  visit  to  Maisie 
— always  under  the  green  eyes  of  the  red-haired 
impressionist  girl  whom  he  learned  to  hate 
at  sight — and  was  tingling  with  a  keen  sense  of 
shame.  Sunday  after  Sunday,  putting  on  his 
best  clothes,  he  had  walked  over  to  the  untidy 
house  north  of  the  park,  first  to  see  Maisie's 
pictures,  and  then  to  criticise  and  advise  upon 
them  as  he  realized  that  they  were  productions 
on  which  advice  would  not  be  wasted.  Sun- 
day after  Sunday,  and  his  love  grew  with  each 
visit;  he  had  been  compelled  to  cram  his 
heart  back   from   between   his  lips   when   it 


The  Light  that  Failed        85 

prompted  him  to  kiss  Maisie  several  times  and 
very  much  indeed.  Sunday  after  Sunday,  the 
head  above  the  heart  had  warned  him  that 
Maisie  was  not  yet  attainable,  and  that  it 
would  be  better  to  talk  as  connectedly  as  pos- 
sible upon  the  mysteries  of  the  craft  that  was 
all  and  all  to  her.  Therefore  it  was  his  fate 
to  endure  weekly  torture  in  the  studio  built 
out  over  the  clammy  back  garden  of  a  frail, 
stuffy  little  villa  where  nothing  was  ever  in  its 
right  place,  and  nobody  ever  called — to  endure 
and  to  watch  Maisie  moving  to  and  fro  with 
the  tea-cups.  He  abhorred  tea,  but  since  it 
gave  him  a  little  longer  time  in  her  presence 
he  drank  it  devoutly,  and  the  red-haired  girl 
sat  in  an  untidy  heap  and  eyed  him  without 
speaking.  She  was  always  watching  him. 
Once,  and  only  once,  when  she  had  left  the 
studio,  Maisie  showed  him  an  album  that  held 
a  few  poor  cuttings  from  provincial  papers — 
the  briefest  of  hurried  notes  on  some  of  her 
pictures  sent  to  outlying  exhibitions.  Dick 
stooped  and  kissed  the  paint-smudged  thumb 
on  the  open  page.  "  Oh,  my  love,  my  love," 
he  muttered,  "do  you  value  these  things? 
Chuck  'em  into  the  waste-paper  basket?" 

"  Not  till  I  get  something  better,"  said 
Maisie,  shutting  the  book. 

Then  Dick,  moved  by  no  respect  for  his 
public  and  a  very  deep  regard  for  the  maiden, 
did  deliberately  propose,  in  order  to  secure 
more  of  these  coveted  cuttings,  that  he  should 
paint  a  picture  which  Maisie  should  sign. 


86         The  Light  that  Failed 

"That's  childish,"  said  Maisie,  ''and  1 
didn't  think  it  of  you.  It  must  be  my  work. 
Mine — mine — mine  ! '' 

"  Go  and  design  decorative  medallions  for 
rich  brewers'  houses.  You  are  thoroughly  good 
at  that." 

Dick  was  sick  and  savage. 

"Better  things  than  medallions,  Dick,"  was 
the  answer,  in  tones  that  recalled  a  gray-eyed 
atom's  fearless  speech  to  Mrs.  Jennett.  Dick 
would  have  abased  himself  utterly,  but  that 
the  other  girl  trailed  in. 

Next  Sunday  he  laid  at  Maisie's  feet  small 
gifts  of  pencils  that  could  almost  draw  of 
themselves  and  colors  in  whose  permanence  he 
believed,  and  he  was  ostentatiously  attentive 
to  the  work  in  hand.  It  demanded,  among 
other  things,  an  exposition  of  the  faith  that 
was  in  him.  Torpenhow's  hair  would  have 
stood  on  end  had  he  heard  the  fluency  with 
which  Dick  preached  his  own  gospel  of  art. 

A  month  before,  Dick  would  have  been 
equally  astonished ;  but  it  was  Maisie's  will 
and  pleasure,  and  he  dragged  his  words  to- 
gether to  make  plain  to  her  comprehension 
all  that  had  been  hidden  to  himself  of  the 
whys  and  wherefores  of  work.  There  is  not 
the  least  difficulty  in  doing  a  thing  if  you  only 
know  how  to  do  it ;  the  trouble  is  to  explain 
your  method. 

"  I  could  put  this  right  if  I  had  a  brush  in 
my  hand,"  said  Dick,  despairingly,  over  the 
modeling  of  a  chin  that  Maisie  complained 


The  Light  that  Failed        87 

would  not  "  look  flesh  " — it  was  the  same  chin 
that  she  had  scraped  out  with  the  palette 
knife,  "  but  I  find  it  almost  impossible  to  teach 
you.  There's  a  queer  grim  Dutch  touch 
about  your  painting  that  I  like  ;  but  I've  a 
notion  that  you're  weak  in  drawing.  You 
foreshorten  as  though  you  never  used  the 
model,  and  you've  caught  Kami's  pasty  way 
of  dealing  with  flesh  in  shadow.  Then,  again, 
though  you  don't  know  it  yourself,  you  shirk 
hard  work.  Suppose  you  spend  some  of  your 
time  on  line  alone.  Line  doesn't  allow  of 
shirking.  Oils  do,  and  three  square  inches  of 
flashy  tricky  stuff  in  the  corner  of  a  pic  some- 
times carry  a  bad  thing  oif — as  I  know. 
That's  immortal.  Do  line  work  for  a  little 
while,  and  then  I  can  tell  more  about  your 
powers,  as  old  Kami  used  to  say." 

Maisie  protested ;  she  did  not  care  for  the 
pure  line. 

"I  know,"  said  Dick.  "You  want  to  do 
your  own  fancy  heads  with  a  bunch  of  flowers 
at  the  base  of  the  neck  to  hide  bad  modeling." 
The  red-haired  girl  laughed  a  little.  "  You 
want  to  do  landscapes  with  cattle  knee-deep 
in  grass  to  hide  bad  drawing.  You  want  to 
do  a  great  deal  more  than  you  can  do.  You 
have  sense  of  color,  but  you  want  form. 
Color's  a  gift — put  it  aside  and  think  no  more 
about  it — but  form  you  can  be  drilled  into. 
Now,  all  your  fancy  heads — and  some  of  them 
are  very  good — will  keep  you  exactly  where 
you  are.     With  line  you  must  go  forward  or 


88         The  Light  that  Failed 

backward,  and  it  will  show  up  all  your  weak- 
nesses." 

"  But  other  people "  began  Maisie. 

*'  You  mustn't  mind  what  other  people  do. 
If  their  souls  were  your  soul  it  would  be 
different.  You  stand  and  fall  by  your  own 
work,  remember,  and  it's  waste  of  time  to 
think  of  any  one  else  in  this  battle." 

Dick  paused,  and  the  longing  that  had  been 
so  resolutely  put  away  came  back  into  his 
eyes.  He  looked  at  Maisie,  and  the  look 
asked  as  plainly  as  words — was  it  not  time  to 
leave  all  this  barren  wilderness  of  canvas  and 
counsel  and  join  hands  with  life  and  love  ? 

Maisie  assented  to  the  new  program  of 
schooling  so  adorably  that  Dick  could  hardly 
restrain  himself  from  picking  her  up  then  and 
there  and  carrying  her  off  to  the  nearest  reg- 
istrar's office.  It  was  the  implicit  obedience 
to  the  spoken  word  and  the  blank  indifference 
to  the  unspoken  desire  that  baffled  and  buf- 
feted his  soul.  He  held  authority  in  that 
house — authority  limited,  indeed — for  one 
half  of  one  afternoon  in  seven,  but  very  real 
while  it  lasted.  Maisie  had  learned  to  appeal 
to  him  on  many  subjects,  from  the  proper 
packing  of  pictures  to  the  condition  of  a 
smoky  chimney.  The  red-haired  girl  never 
consulted  him  about  anything.  On  the  other 
hand,  she  accepted  his  appearance  without 
protest  and  watched  him  always.  He  dis- 
covered that  the  meals  of  the  establishment 
were  irregular  and  fragmentary.      They  de- 


The  Light  that  Failed        89 

pended  chiefly  on  tea,  pickles,  and  biscuit,  as 
he  had  suspected  from  the  beginning.  The 
girls  were  supposed  to  market  week  and  week 
about,  but  they  lived,  with  the  help  of  a  char- 
woman, as  casually  as  the  young  ravens. 
Maisie  spent  most  of  her  income  on  models, 
and  the  other  girl  reveled  in  apparatus  as  re- 
fined as  her  work  was  rough.  Armed  with 
knowledge  dear  bought  from  the  docks,  Dick 
warned  Maisie  that  the  end  of  semi-starvation 
meant  the  cripplins:  of  power  to  work,  which 
was  considerably  worse  than  death.  Maisie 
took  the  warning,  and  gave  more  thought  to 
what  she  eat  and  drank.  When  his  trouble 
returned  upon  him,  as  it  generally  did  in  the 
long  winter  twilights,  the  remembrance  of 
that  little  act  of  domestic  authority  and  his 
coercion  with  a  hearth  brush  of  the  smoky 
drawing-room  chimney  stung  Dick  like  a  whip 
lash. 

He  conceived  that  his  memory  would  be 
the  extreme  of  his  sufferings  till  one  Sunday 
the  red-haired  girl  announced  that  she  would 
make  a  study  of  Dick's  head,  and  that  he 
would  be  good  enough  to  sit  still,  and — quite 
as  an  after-thought — look  at  Maisie.  He  sat, 
because  he  could  not  well  refuse,  and  for  the 
space  of  half  an  hour  he  reflected  on  all  the 
people  in  the  past  whom  he  had  laid  open  for 
the  purpose  of  his  own  craft.  He  remembered 
Binat  most  distinctly — that  Binat  who  had 
once  been  an  artist  and  talked  about  degra- 
dation. 


90         The  Light  that  Failed 

It  was  the  merest  monochromo  roughing  in 
of  a  head,  but  it  presented  the  dumb  waiting, 
the  longing,  and  above  all  the  hopeless  en- 
slavement of  the  man  in  a  spirit  of  bitter 
mockery. 

"  I'll  buy  it,"  said  Dick,  promptly,  "  at  your 
own  price." 

"  My  price  is  too  high  ;  but  I  dare  say  you'll 
be  as  grateful  if "  The  wet  sketch  flut- 
tered from  the  girl's  hand  and  fell  into  the  ashes 
of  the  studio  stove.  When  she  picked  it  up 
it  was  hopelessly  smudged. 

"Oh,  it's  all  spoiled,''  said  Maisie.  "And 
I  never  saw  it.     Was  it  like  ?  " 

"Thank  you,"  said  Dick  under  his  breath 
to  the  red-haired  girl.  And  he  removed  him- 
self swiftly. 

"  How  that  man  hates  me  !  "  said  the  girl. 
"And  how  he  loves  you,  Maisie  !  " 

"  What  nonsense  !  I  know  Dick's  very  fond 
of  me,  but  he  has  his  work  to  do,  and  I  have 
mine." 

"  Yes,  he  is  fond  of  you,  and  I  think  he 
knows  there  is  something  in  impressionism, 
after  all.     Maisie,  can't  you  see  ?  " 

"See?     See  what.?" 

"  Nothing ;  only,  I  know  that  if  I  could  get 
any  man  to  look  at  me  as  that  man  looks  at 
you,  I'd — I  don't  know  what  I'd  do.  But  he 
hates  me.     Oh,  how  he  hates  me  !  " 

She  was  not  altogether  correct.  Dick's 
hatred  was  tempered  with  gratitude  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  he  forgot  the  girl  entirely. 


The  Light  that  Failed        91 

Only  the  sense  of  shame  remained,  and  he 
was  nursing  it  across  the  park  in  the  fog. 
"There'll  be  an  explosion  one  of  these  days," 
he  said,  wrathfuUy.  "  But  it  isn't  Maisie's 
fault ;  she's  right ;  quite  right,  as  far  as  she 
knows,  and  I  can't  blame  her.  This  business 
has  been  going  on  for  three  months  nearly. 
Three  months — and  it  cost  me  ten  years' 
knocking  about  to  get  at  the  notion,  the 
merest  raw  notion,  of  my  work.  That's  true ; 
but  then  I  didn't  have  pins,  drawing  pins,  and 
palette  knives  stuck  into  me  every  Sunday. 
Oh,  my  little  darling,  if  ever  I  break  you, 
somebody  will  have  a  very  bad  time  of  it.  No, 
she  won't.  I'd  be  as  big  a  fool  about  her  as  I 
am  now.  I'll  poison  that  red-haired  girl  on  my 
wedding-day — -she's  unwholesome — and  now 
I'll  pass  on  these  present  bad  times  to  Torp.'* 

Torpenhow  had  been  moved  to  lecture  Dick 
more  than  once  lately  on  the  sin  of  levity,  and 
Dick  had  listened  and  recoiled  not  a  word. 
In  the  weeks  between  the  first  few  Sundays 
of  his  discipline  he  had  flung  himself  savagely 
into  his  work,  resolved  that  Maisie  should  at 
least  know  the  full  stretch  of  his  powers. 
Then  he  had  taught  Maisie  that  she  must  not 
pay  the  least  attention  to  any  work  outside 
her  own,  and  Maisie  had  obeyed  him  all  too 
well.  She  took  his  counsels,  but  was  not  in- 
terested in  his  pictures. 

"  Your  things  smell  of  tobacco  and  blood," 
she  said,  once.  "  Can't  you  do  anything  ex- 
cept soldiers  ? " 


92         The  Light  that  Failed 

"  1  could  do  a  head  of  you  that  would  startle 
you,"  thought  Dick — this  was  before  the  red- 
haired  girl  had  brought  him  under  the  guillo- 
tine— but  he  only  said,  "  I  am  very  sorry,'* 
and  harrowed  Torpenhow's  soul  that  evening 
with  blasphemies  against  Art.  Later,  insensi- 
bly and  to  a  large  extent  against  his  own  will, 
he  ceased  to  interest  himself  in  his  own  work. 
For  Maisie's  sake,  and  to  soothe  the  self- 
respect  that,  it  seemed  to  him,  he  lost  each 
Sunday,  he  would  not  consciously  turn  out 
bad  stuff,  but,  since  Maisie  did  not  care  even 
for  his  best,  it  were  better  not  to  do  anything 
at  all  save  wait  and  mark  time  between  Sun- 
day and  Sunday.  Torpenhow  was  disgusted 
as  the  weeks  went  by  fruitless,  and  then  at- 
tacked him  one  Sunday  evening  when  Dick 
felt  utterly  exhausted  after  three  hours'  biting 
self-restraint  in  Maisie's  presence.  There 
was  language,  and  Torpenhow  withdrew  to 
consult  the  Nilghai  who  had  come  in  to  talk 
continental  politics. 

"  Bone-idle,  is  he  ?  Careless,  and  touched 
in  the  temper  ?  "  said  the  Nilghai.  "  It  isn't 
worth  worrying  over.  Dick  is  probably  play- 
ing the  fool  with  a  woman." 

"  Isn't  that  bad  enough  ?  '* 

*'  No.  She  may  throw  him  out  of  gear  and 
knock  his  work  to  pieces  for  awhile.  She 
may  even  turn  up  here  some  day  and  make 
a  scene  on  the  staircase.  One  never  knows. 
But  until  Dick  speaks  of  his  own  accord  you 


The  Light  that  Failed        93 

had  better  not  touch  him.  He  is  no  easy- 
tempered  man  to  handle." 

"  No.  I  wish  he  were.  He  is  such  an 
aggressive,  cocksure,  you-be-damned  fellow." 

"  He'll  get  that  knocked  out  of  him  in  time. 
He  must  learn  that  he  can't  storm  up  and 
down  the  world  with  a  box  of  moist  tubes  and 
a  slick  brush.     You're  fond  of  him  ?  " 

"  I'd  take  any  punishment  that's  in  store 
for  him  if  I  could  ;  but  the  worst  of  it  is,  no 
man  can  save  his  brother." 

"  No,  and  the  worser  of  it  is,  there  is  no 
discharge  in  this  war.  Dick  must  learn  his 
lesson  like  the  rest  of  us.  Talking  of  war, 
there'll  be  trouble  in  the  Balkans  in  the 
spring." 

"  That  trouble  is  long  coming.  I  wonder 
if  we  could  drag  Dick  out  there  when  it 
comes." 

Dick  entered  the  room  shortly  afterward, 
and  the  question  was  put  to  him.  "  Not  good 
enough,"  he  said,  shortly.  "  I'm  too  comfy 
where  I  am." 

"  Surely  you  aren't  taking  all  the  stuff  in  the 
papers  seriously,"  said  the  Nilghai.  "  Your 
vogue  will  be  ended  in  less  than  six  months 
— the  public  will  know  your  touch  and  go  on 
to  something  new — and  where  will  you  be 
then  ?  " 

"  Here,  in  England.'* 

**  When  you  might  be  doing  decent  work 
among  us  out  there.  Nonsense  !  I  shall  go  ; 
the  Keneu  will  be  there  ;  Torp  will  be  there ; 


94         The  Light  that  Failed 

Cassavetti  will  be  there,  and  the  whole  lot  of 
us  will  be  there,  and  we  shall  have  as  much 
as  ever  we  can  do,  with  unlimited  fighting,  and 
the  chance  for  you  of  seeing  things  that  would 
make  the  reputation  of  three  Verestchagins/' 

''  Um  ! ''  said  Dick,  pulling  at  his  pipe. 

"You  prefer  to  stay  here  and  imagine  that 
all  the  world  is  gaping  at  your  pictures  ?  Just 
think  how  full  an  average  man's  life  is  of  his 
own  pursuits  and  pleasures.  When  twenty 
thousand  of  him  find  time  to  look  up  between 
mouthfuls  and  grunt  something  about  some- 
thing that  they  aren't  the  least  interested  in, 
the  net  result  is  called  fame,  reputation,  or 
notoriety,  according  to  the  taste  and  fancy  of 
the  speller,  my  lord." 

"  I  know  that  as  well  as  you  do.  Give  me 
credit  for  a  little  gumption." 

*'  Be  hanged  if  I  do  !  " 

^'-  Be  hanged,  then  ;  you  probably  will  be — 
for  a  spy,  by  excited  Turks.  Heigh-ho  !  I'm 
weary,  dead  weary,  and  virtue  has  gone  out 
of  me."  Dick  dropped  into  a  chair  and  was 
fast  asleep  in  a  minute. 

"That's  a  bad  sign,"  said  the  Nilghai,  in 
an  undertone. 

Torpenhow  picked  the  pipe  from  the  waist- 
coat where  it  was  beginning  to  burn,  and  put 
a  pillow  behind  the  head.  "  We  can't  help; 
we  can't  help,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  good  ugly  sort 
of  old  cocoanut,  and  I'm  fond  of  it.  There's 
the  scar  of  the  wipe  he  got  when  he  was  cut 
over  in  the  square." 


The  Light  that  Failed  95 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  if  that  has  made  him  9. 
trifle  mad. " 

"  I  should.  He's  a  most  businesslike 
madman." 

Then  Dick  began  to  snore  furiously. 

*'  Oh,  here,  no  affection  can  stand  this  sort 
of  thing.  Wake  up,  Dick,  and  go  and  sleep 
somewhere  else  if  you  intend  to  make  a  noise 
about  it." 

"  When  a  cat  has  been  out  on  the  tiles  all 
night,"  said  the  Nilghai  in  his  beard,  "  I  notice 
that  she  usually  sleeps  all  day.  This  is  nat- 
ural history." 

Dick  staggered  away  rubbing  his  eyes  and 
yawning.  In  the  night-watches  he  was  over- 
taken with  an  idea,  so  simple  and  so  luminous 
that  he  wondered  he  had  never  conceived  it 
before.  It  was  full  of  craft.  He  would  seek 
Maisie  on  a  week-day, — would  suggest  an 
excursion,  and  would  take  her  by  train  to  Fort 
Keeling,  over  the  very  ground  that  they  two 
had  trodden  together  ten  years  ago. 

"As  a  general  rule,"  he  explained  to  his 
chin-lathered  reflection  in  the  morning,  "  it 
isn't  safe  to  cross  an  old  trail  twice.  Things 
remind  one  of  things,  and  a  cold  wind  gets  up, 
and  you  feel  sad ;  but  this  is  an  exception  to 
every  rule  that  ever  was.  I'll  go  to  Maisie  at 
once." 

Fortunately,  the  red-haired  girl  was  out 
shopping  when  he  arrived,  and  Maisie  in  a 
paint-spattered  blouse  was  warring  with  her 
canvas.     She  was  not  pleased  to  see  him  ;  for 


96         The  Light  that' Failed 

week-day  visits  were  a  stretch  of  the  bond ; 
and  it  needed  all  his  courage  to  explain  his 
errand. 

'*  I  know  you've  been  working  too  hard/' 
he  concluded,  with  an  air  of  authority.  "  If 
you  do  that,  you'll  break  down.  You  had 
much  better  come." 

"  Where  ?  "  said  Maisie,  wearily.  She  had 
been  standing  before  her  easel  too  long,  and 
was  very  tired. 

"Anywhere  you  please.  We'll  take  a  train 
to-morrow  and  see  where  it  stops.  We'll  have 
lunch  somewhere,  and  I'll  bring  you  back  in 
the  evening." 

"  If  there's  a  good  working  light  to-morrow 
I  lose  a  day."  Maisie  balanced  the  heavy 
white  chestnut  palette  irresolutely. 

Dick  bit  back  an  oath  that  was  hurrying  to 
his  lips.  He  had  not  yet  learned  patience 
with  the  maiden  to  whom  her  work  was  all  in 
all. 

*'  You'll  lose  ever  so  many  more,  dear,  if  you 
use  every  hour  of  working  light.  Overwork's 
only  murderous  idleness.  Don't  be  unreason- 
able. I'll  call  for  you  to-morrow  after  break- 
fast early." 

"  But  surely  you  are  going  to  ask " 

"  No,  I  am  not.  I  want  you  and  nobody 
else.  Besides,  she  hates  me  as  much  as  I  hate 
her.  She  won't  care  to  come.  To-morrow, 
then  ;  and  pray  that  we  get  sunshine." 

Dick  went  away  delighted,  and  by  conse- 
quence did  no  work  whatever.     He  strangled  a 


The  Light  that  Failed         97 

wild  desire  to  order  a  special  train,  but  bougiit 
a  great  gray  kangaroo  cloak  lined  with  glossy 
black  marten,  and  then  retired  into  himself  to 
consider  things. 

"  I'm  going  out  for  the  day  to-morrow  with 
Dick/'  said  Maisie  to  the  red-haired  girl  when 
the  latter  returned,  tired,  from  marketing  in 
the  Edgware  Road. 

"  He  deserves  it.  I  shall  have  the  studio 
floor  thoroughly  scrubbed  while  you're  away. 
It's  very  dirty." 

Maisie  had  enjoyed  no  sort  of  holiday  for 
months,  and  looked  forward  to  the  little  ex- 
citement, but  not  without  misgivings. 

"There's  nobody  nicer  than  Dick  when  he 
talks  sensibly,"  she  thought,  '*  but  I'm  sure 
he'll  be  silly  and  worry  me,  and  I'm  sure  1 
can't  tell  him  anything  he'd  like  to  hear.  If 
he'd  only  be  sensible  I  should  like  him  so  much 
better." 

Dick's  eyes  were  full  of  joy  when  he  made 
his  appearance  next  morning  and  saw  Maisie^ 
gray-ulstered  and  black-velvet-hatted,  standing 
in  the  hallway.  Palaces  of  marble,  and  not 
sordid  imitations  of  grained  wood,  were  surely 
the  fittest  background  for  such  divinity.  The 
red-haired  girl  drew  her  into  the  studio  for  a 
moment  and  kissed  her  hurriedly.  IMaisie's- 
eyebrows  climbed  to  the  top  of  her  forehead  j, 
she  was  altogether  unused  to  these  demonstra-- 
tions.  ''Mind  my  hat,"  she  said,  hurrying- 
away,  and  ran  down  the  steps  to  Dick  waiting 
by  the  hansom. 
7 


98         The  Li^ht  that  Failed 

"  Are  you  quite  warm  enough  ?  Are  you 
sure  you  won't  like  some  more  breakfast? 
Put  this  cloak  over  your  knees." 

"  I'm  quite  comfy,  thanks.  Where  are  we 
going,  Dick  ?  Oh,  do  stop  singing  like  that. 
People  will  think  we're  mad." 

'•  Let  'em  think, — if  the  exertion  doesn't  kill 
them.  They  don't  know  who  we  are,  and  Pm 
sure  I  don't  care  who  they  are.  My  faith, 
Maisie,  you're  looking  lovely  !  " 

Maisie  stared  directly  in  front  of  her  and 
did  not  reply.  The  wind  of  a  keen  clear 
winter  morning  had  put  color  into  her  cheeks. 
Overhead,  the  cream3'-yellow  smoke-clouds 
were  thinning  away  one  by  one  against  a  pale- 
blue  sky,  and  the  improvident  sparrows  broke 
off  from  water-spout  committees  and  cab-rank 
cabals  to  clamor  of  the  coming  of  spring. 

"It  will  be  lovely  weather  in  the  country," 
said  Dick. 

"  But  where  are  we  going  ?  " 

"  Wait  and  see.'* 

They  stopped  at  Victoria,  and  Dick  sought 
tickets.  For  less  than  half  the  fraction  of  an 
instant  it  occurred  to  Maisie,  comfortably  set- 
tled by  the  waiting-room  fire,  that  it  was  much 
more  pleasant  to  send  a  man  to  the  booking- 
office  than  to  elbow  one's  own  way  through 
the  crowd.  Dick  put  her  into  a  Pullman, — 
solely  on  account  of  the  warmth  there  ;  and 
she  regarded  the  extravagance  with  grave 
scandalized  eyes  as  the  train  moved  out  into 
the  country. 


The  Light  that  Failed         99 

"  I  wish  I  knew  where  we  are  going,"  she 
repeated  for  the  twentieth  time.  The  name 
of  a  well-remembered  station  flashed  by,  to- 
ward the  end  of  the  run,  and  Maisie  v;as 
enlightened. 

"  Oh,  Dick,  you  villain  !  " 

"  Well,  I  thought  you  might  like  to  see  the 
place  again.  You  haven't  been  here  since  old 
times,  have  you  ?  " 

"  No.  I  never  cared  to  see  Mrs.  Jennett 
again  ;  and  she  was  all  that  was  ever  there." 

"  Not  quite.  Look  out  a  minute.  There's 
the  windmill  above  the  potato-fields ;  they 
haven't  built  villas  there  yet ;  d'you  remember 
when  I  shut  you  up  in  it  ?  " 

*'  Yes.  How  she  beat  you  for  it !  I  never 
told  it  was  you." 

"  She  guessed.  I  jammed  a  stick  under  the 
door  and  told  you  that  I  was  burying  Amom- 
ma  alive  in  the  potatoes,  and  you  believed  me. 
You  had  a  trustino-  nature  in  those  days." 

They  laughed  and  leaned  to  look  out,  iden- 
tifying ancient  landmarks  with  many  reminis- 
cences. Dick  fixed  his  weather  eye  on  the 
curve  of  Maisie's  cheek,  very  near  his  own,  and 
watched  the  blood  rise  under  the  clear  skin. 
He  congratulated  himself  upon  his  cunning, 
and  looked  that  the  evening  would  bring  him  a 
great  reward. 

When  the  train  stopped  they  went  out  to 
look  at  an  old  town  with  new  eyes.  First,  but 
from  a  distance,  they  regarded  the  house  of 
Mrs.  Jennett. 


coo       The  Light  that  Failed 


^«3 


"  Suppose  she  should  come  out  now,  what 
would  you  do  ? "  said  Dick,  with  mock  terror, 

'*  I  should  make  a  face/' 

*'  Show,  then,"  said  Dick,  dropping  into  the 
speech  of  childhood. 

Maisie  made  that  face  in  the  direction  of 
the  mean  little  villa,  and  Dick  laughed  aloud. 

"  '  This  is  disgraceful,'  '*  said  Maisie,  mimick- 
ing Mrs.  Jennett's  tone.  "  *  Maisie,  you  run 
in  at  once,  and  learn  the  collect,  gospel,  and 
epistle  for  the  next  three  Sundays.  After  all 
I've  taught  you,  too,  and  three  helps  every 
Sunday  at  dinner  I  Dick's  always  leading  you 
into  mischief.  If  you  aren't  a  gentleman,  Dick 
you  might  at  least '  " 

The  sentence  ended  abruptly.  Maisie  re- 
membered when  it  had  last  been  used. 

"'Try  to  behave  like  one,'"  said  Dick, 
promptly.  *' Quite  right.  Now  we'll  get  some 
lunch  and  go  on  to  Fort  Keeling, — unless 
you'd  rather  drive  there  !  " 

*'  We  must  walk,  out  of  respect  to  the  place. 
How  little  changed  it  all  is !  " 

They  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  sea 
through  unaltered  streets,  and  the  influence 
of  old  things  lay  upon  them.  Presently  they 
passed  a  confectioner's  shop  much  considered 
in  the  days  when  their  joint  pocket-money 
amounted  to  a  shilling  a  week. 

*'  Dick,  have  you  any  pennies  ? "  said  Maisie, 
half  to  herself. 

"  Only  three  ;  and  if  you  think  you're  going 
to  have  two  of  em'  to  buy  peppermints  with, 


The  Light  that  Failed       loi 

you're  wrong.  She  says  peppermints  aren't 
ladylike." 

Again  they  laughed,  and  again  the  color 
came  into  Maisie's  cheeks  as  the  blood  boiled 
through  Dick's  heart.  After  a  large  lunch 
they  went  down  to  the  beach  and  to  Fort 
Keeling  across  the  waste,  wind-bitten  land 
that  no  builder  had  thought  it  worth  his  while 
to  defile.  The  winter  breeze  came  in  from 
the  sea  and  sang  about  their  ears. 

"  Maisie,"  said  Dick,  your  nose  is  getting  a 
crude  Prussian  blue  at  the  tip.  I'll  race  you  as 
far  as  you  please  for  as  much  as  you  please.  '* 

She  looked  round  cautiously,  and  with  a 
laugh  set  off,  swiftly  as  the  ulster  allowed,  till 
she  was  out  of  breath. 

"  We  used  to  run  miles,"  she  panted.  "  It's 
absurd  that  we  can't  run  now." 

"  Old  age,  dear.  This  it  is  to  get  fat  and 
sleek  in  town.  When  I  wished  to  pull  your 
hair  you  generally  ran  for  three  miles,  shriek- 
ing at  the  top  of  your  voice.  I  ought  to  know, 
because  those  shrieks  were  meant  to  call  up 
Mrs.  Jennett  with  a  cane  and " 

*'  Dick,  I  never  got  you  a  beating  on  pur- 
pose in  my  life." 

"  No,  of  course  you  never  did.  Good 
heavens  !  look  at  the  sea." 

"  Why,  it's  the  same  as  ever  1 ''  said  Maisie, 

Torpenhow  had  gathered  from  Mr.  Beeton 
that  Dick,  properly  dressed  and  shaved,  had 
left  the  house  at  half-past  eight  in  the  moriv 


102       The  Light  that  Failed 

ing  with  a  traveling-rug  over  his  arm.  The 
Nilghai  rolled  in  at  midday  for  chess  and 
polite  conversation. 

''  It's  worse  than  anything  I  imagined," 
said  Torpenhow. 

"  Oh,  the  everlasting  Dick,  I  suppose ! 
You  fuss  over  him  like  a  hen  with  one  chick. 
Let  him  run  riot  if  he  thinks  it'll  amuse  him. 
You  can  whip  a  young  pup  off  feather,  but  you 
can't  whip  a  young  man." 

"It  isn't  a  woman.  It's  one  woman  ;  and 
it's  a  girl. " 

"  Where's  your  proof.''  " 

"He  got  up  and  went  out  at  eight  this 
morning, — got  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
by  Jove  !  a  thing  he  never  does  except  when 
he's  on  service.  Even  then,  remember,  we 
had  to  kick  him  out  of  his  blankets  before  the 
fight  began  at  El-Maghrib.      It's  disgusting." 

"  It  looks  odd  ;  but  maybe  he's  decided  to 
buy  a  horse  at  last.  He  might  get  up  for  that, 
mightn't  he?" 

*'  Buy  a  blazing  wheelbarrow  !  He'd  have 
told  us  if  there  was  a  horse  in  the  wind.  It's 
a  girl." 

"Don't  be  certain.  Perhaps  it's  only  a 
married  woman." 

"Dick  has  some  sense  of  humor,  if  you 
haven't.  Who  gets  up  in  the  gray  dawn  to 
call  on  another  man's  wife  .-*     It's  a  girl.  ' 

"  Let  it  be  a  girl,  then.  She  may  teach 
him  that  there's  somebody  else  in  the  world 
besides  himself." 


The  Light  that  Failed       103 

"  She'll  spoil  his  hand.  She'll  waste  his 
time,  and  she'll  marry  him,  and  ruin  his  work 
forever.  He'll  be  a  respectable  married  man 
before  we  can  stop  him,  and — he'll  never  go 
on  the  lons^  trail  again." 

"  All  quite  possible,  but  the  earth  won't 
spin  the  other  way  when  it  happens.  .  .  . 
Ho!  ho!  I'd  give  something  to  see  Dick  '  go 
wooing  with  the  boys.'  Don't  worry  about  it. 
These  things  be  with  Allah,  and  we  can  only 
look  on.     Get  the  chessmen." 

The  red-haired  girl  was  lying  down  in  her 
own  room,  staring  at  the  ceiling.  The  foot- 
steps of  people  on  the  pavement  sounded,  as 
they  grew  indistinct  in  the  distance,  like  a 
many-times-repeated  kiss  that  was  all  one 
long  kiss.  Her  hands  were  by  her  side,  and  they 
opened  and  shut  savagely  from  time  to  time. 

The  charwoman  in  charge  of  the  scrubbing 
of  the  studio  knocked  at  her  door:  "Beg  y' 
pardon,  miss,  but  in  cleanin'  of  a  floor  there's 
two,  not  to  say  three,  kind  of  soap,  which  is 
yaller,  an'  mottled,  an  disinfectink.  Now,  jist 
before  I  took  my  pail  into  the  passage  I 
thought  it  would  be  pre'aps  jest  as  well  if  I 
was  to  come  up  'ere  an'  ask  you  what  sort  of 
soap  you  was  wishful  that  I  should  use  on  them 
boards.     The  yaller  soap,  miss " 

There  was  nothing  in  the  speech  to  have 
caused  the  paroxysm  of  fury  that  drove  the 
red-haired  girl  into  the  middle  of  the  roomj 
almost  shouting — 


104       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  Do  you  suppose  /  care  what  you  use  ? 
Any  kind  will  do  ! — afiy  kind  !  ** 

The  woman  fled,  and  the  red-haired  girl 
looked  at  her  own  reflection  in  the  glass  for 
an  instant  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  It  was  as  though  she  had  shouted 
some  shameless  secret  aloud. 


The  Light  that  Failed       105 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Roses  red  and  roses  white 
Plucked  I  for  my  love's  delight. 
She  would  none  of  all  my  posies,— 
Bade  me  gather  her  blue  roses. 

Half  the  world  I  wander  through. 
Seeking  where  such  flower  grew  ; 
Half  the  world  unto  my  quest 
Answered  but  with  laugh  and  jest. 

It  may  be  beyond  the  grave 
She  shall  find  what  she  would  have. 
Oh,  'twas  but  an  idle  quest 
Roses  white  and  red  are  best ! 

Blue  Roses, 

Indeed  the  sea  had  not  changed.  Its 
waters  were  low  on  the  mud-banks,  and  the 
Marazion  bell-buoy  clanked  and  swung  in 
the  tide-way.  On  the  white  beach-sand 
dried  stumps  of  sea-poppy  shivered  and 
chatted  together. 

"  I  don't  see  the  old  breakwater,"  said 
Maisie,  under  her  breath. 

"  Let's  be  thankful  that  we  have  as  much  as 
we  have.  I  don't  believe  they've  mounted  a 
single  new  gun  on  the  fort  since  we  were  here. 
Come  and  look." 

They  came  to  the  glacis  of  Fort  Keeling, 
and  sat  down  in  a  nook  sheltered  from  the 
wind  under  the  tarred  throat  of  a  forty-poundei 
cannon. 


io6       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  Now,  if  Amomma  were  only  here  !  "  said 
Maisie. 

For  a  long  time  both  were  silent.  Then 
Dick  took  Maisie's  hand  and  called  her  by 
her  name. 

Siie  shook  her  head  and  looked  out  to  sea. 

"  Maisie,  darling,  doesn't  it  make  any  differ- 
ence .?  '^ 

"  No  !  "  between  clenched  teeth.  "  I'd— 
I'd  tell  you  if  it  did  ;  but  it  doesn't.  Oh, 
Dick,  please  be  sensible." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  it  ever  will  ? " 

"  No,  I'm  sure  it  won't." 

"  Why  .? " 

Maisie  rested  her  chin  on  her  hand,  and, 
still  regarding  the  sea,  spoke  hurriedly — 

"  I  know  what  you  want  perfectly  well,  but 
I  can't  give  it  you,  Dick.  It  isn't  my  fault  ; 
indeed  it  isn't.  If  I  felt  that  I  could  care  for 
any  one — But  I  don't  feel  that  I  care.  I  sim- 
ply don't  understand  what  the  feeling  means.'* 

"Is  that  true,  dear.?  " 

"  You've  been  very  good  to  me,  Dickie : 
and  the  only  way  I  can  pay  you  back  is  by 
speaking  the  truth.  I  daren't  tell  a  fib.  I 
despise  myself  quite  enough  as  it  is." 

"  What'in  the  world  for  .?  " 

"  Because — because  I  take  everything  that 
you  give  me  and  I  give  you  nothing  in  return. 
It's  mean  and  selfish  of  me,  and  whenever  I 
think  of  it  it  worries  me." 

"Understand  once  for  all,  then,  that  I  can 
manage  my  own  affairs,  and  if  I  choose  to  do 


The  Light  that  Failed       107 

anything  you  aren't  to  blame.  You  haven't 
a  single  thing  to  reproach  yourself  with, 
darling." 

"  Yes,    I   have,  and  talking  only  makes  it 
worse." 

"  Then  don't  talk  about  it.*' 
"  How  can  I  help  myself?  If  you  find  me 
alone  for  a  minute  you  are  always  talking 
about  it ;  and  when  you  aren't  you  look  it. 
You  don't  know  how  I  despise  myself  some- 
times." 

"  Great  goodness  !  "said  Dick,  nearly  jump- 
ing  to    his    feet.       "  Speak    the    truth    now, 
Maisie,  if  you  never  speak  it  again  !     Do  I — 
does  this  worrying  bore  you  ?  " 
"  No.     It  does  not." 
"  You'd  tell  me  if  it  did  ?  " 
"  I  should  let  you  know,  I  think." 
"  Thank  you.       The   other    thing   is  fatal. 
But  you  miist  learn   to  forgive  a  man  when 
he's  in  love.     He's  always  a  nuisance.     You 
must  have  known  that?" 

Maisie  did  not  consider  the  last  question 
worth  answering,  and  Dick  was  forced  to  re- 
peat it. 

^' There  were  other  men,  of  course.     They 
always  worried  just  when  I  was  in  the  middle 
of  my  work,  and  wanted  me  to  listen  to  them." 
"Did  you  listen  ?" 

"  At  first ;  and  they  couldn't  understand 
why  I  didn't  care.  And  they  used  to  praise 
my  pictures  ;  and  I  thought  they  meant  it.  I 
used  to  be  proud  of  the  praise,  and  tell  Kami, 


io8       The  Light  that  Failed 

and — I  shall  never  forget — once  Kami  laughed 
at  me.'* 

"  You  don't  like  being  laughed  at,  Maisie, 
do  you  ? " 

"  I  hate  it.  I  never  laugh  at  other  people 
onless — unless  they  do  bad  work.  Dick,  tell 
me  honestly  what  you  think  of  my  pictures 
generally, — of  everything  of  mine  that  you've 
seen." 

"'Honest,  honest,  and  honest  over!'" 
quoted  Dick  from  a  catchword  of  long  ago. 
**  Tell  me  what  Kami  always  says.'* 

Maisie  hesitated.  "  He — he  says  that  there 
is  feeling  in  them.'* 

"How  dare  you  tell  me  a  fib  like  that? 
Remember,  I  was  under  Kami  for  two  years. 
I  know  exactlv  what  he  says." 

"It  isn't  a  fib." 

"  It's  worse  ;  it's  a  half  truth.  Kami  says, 
when  he  puts  his  head  on  one  side, — so — '  // 
y  a  dii  senti77iejit  mais  il  7i^y  a  pas  de  parti 
pris.^ "  He  rolled  the  r  threateningly,  as 
Kami  used  to  do. 

"Yes,  that  is  what  he  says;  and  I'm  be- 
ginning to  think  that  he  is  right." 

"  Certainly  he  is."  Dick  admitted  that  two 
people  in  the  world  could  do  and  say  no 
wrong.     Kami  was  the  man. 

"  And  now  you  say  the  same  thing.  It's  so 
disheartening." 

"I'm  sorry,  but  you  asked  me  to  speak  the 
truth.  Besides,  I  love  you  too  much  to  pre- 
tend about  your  work.      It's  strong,  it's  patient 


The  Light  that  Failed       109 

sometimes,  —  not  always,  —  and  sometimes 
there's  power  in  it,  but  there's  no  special  reason 
why  it  should  be  done  at  all.  At  least  that's 
how  it  strikes  me." 

''There's  no  special  reason  why  anything  in 
the  world  should  ever  be  done.  You  know 
that  as  well  as  do.     I  only  want  success." 

"  You're  going  the  wrong  way  to  get  it, 
then.     Hasn't  Kami  ever  told  you  so  ?  " 

"  Don't  quote  Kami  to  me.  I  want  to 
know  what  you  think.  My  work's  bad  to  be- 
gin with." 

*'  I  didn't  say  that,  and  I  don't  think  it." 

*'  It's  amateurish,  then." 

"That  it  most  certainly  is  not.  You're  a 
workwoman,  darling,  to  your  boot-heels,  and 
I  respect  you  for  that." 

"  You  don't  laugh  at  me  behind  my  back  ?  " 

"'  No,  dear.  You  see,  you  are  more  to  me 
than  anyone  else.  Put  this  cloak  thing  round 
you,  or  you'll  get  chilled." 

Maisie  wrapped  herself  in  the  soft  marten 
skins,  turning  the  gray  kangaroo  fur  to  the 
outside. 

"This  is  delicious,"  she  said,  rubbing  her 
chin  thoughtfully  along  the  fur.  "Well? 
Why  am  I  wrong  in  trying  to  get  a  little  suc- 


cess r 


?" 


"  Just  because  you  try.  Don't  you  under- 
stand, darling  ?  Good  work  has  nothing  to 
do  with — doesn't  belong  to — the  person  who 
does  it.  It's  put  into  him  or  her  from  out- 
side." 


no       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  But  how  does  that  affect " 


*'  Wait  a  minute.  All  we  can  do  is  to 
learn  how  to  do  our  work,  to  be  masters  of 
our  materials  instead  of  servants,  and  never 
to  be  afraid  of  anything." 

"I  understand  that." 

"  Everything  else  comes  from  outside  our- 
selves. Very  good.  If  we  sit  down  quietly 
to  work  our  notions  that  are  sent  to  us,  we 
may  or  we  may  not  do  something  that  isn't 
bad.  A  great  deal  depends  on  being  master 
of  the  bricks  and  mortar  of  the  trade.  But  the 
instant  we  begin  to  think  about  success  and 
the  effect  of  our  work — to  play  with  one  eye 
on  the  gallery — we  lose  power  and  touch  and 
everything  else.  At  least  that's  how  I  have 
found  it.  Instead  of  being  quiet  and  giving 
every  power  you  possess  to  your  work,  you're 
fretting  over  something  which  you  can  neither 
help  nor  hinder  by  a  minute.      See?" 

"  It's  so  easy  for  you  to  talk  in  that  way. 
People  like  what  you  do.  Don't  you  ever 
think  about  the  gallerv  ?  " 

"  Much  too  often ;  but  I'm  always  pun- 
ished for  it  by  loss  of  power.  It's  as  simple 
as  the  Rule  of  Three.  If  we  make  light  of 
our  work  by  using  it  for  our  own  ends,  our 
work  will  make  light  of  us,  and,  as  we're  the 
weaker,  we  shall  suffer." 

"  I  don't  treat  my  work  lightly.  You  know 
that  it's  everything  to  me." 

"  Of  course  ;  but,  whether  you  realize  it  or 
not,  you  give  two   strokes  for  yourself  to   one 


The  Light  that  Failed       iii 

for  your  work.  It  isn't  your  fault,  darling.  I 
do  exactly  the  same  thing,  and  know  that  I'm 
doing  it.  Most  of  the  French  schools,  and 
all  the  schools  here,  drive  the  students  to 
work  for  their  own  credit,  and  for  the  sake  of 
their  pride.  I  was  told  that  all  the  world  was 
interested  in  my  work,  and  ever3'body  at  Kami's 
talked  turpentine,  and  I  honestly  believed 
that  the  world  needed  elevating  and  influenc- 
ing, and  all  manner  of  impertinences,  by  my 
brushes.  By  Jove,  I  actually  believed  that ! 
When  my  little  head  was  bursting  with  a  no- 
tion that  I  couldn't  handle  because  I  hadn't 
sufficient  knowledge  of  my  craft,  I  used  to  run 
about  wondering  at  my  own  magnificence  and 
getting  ready  to  astonish  the  world.'' 

"  But  surely  one  can  do  that  sometimes  ?  " 
"  Very  seldom  with  malice  aforethought, 
darling.  And  when  it's  done  it's  such  a  tiny 
thing,  and  the  world's  so  big,  and  all  but  a 
millionth  part  of  it  doesn't  care.  Maisie, 
come  with  me  and  I'll  show  you  something  of 
the  size  of  the  world.  One  can  no  more  avoid 
working  than  eating, — that  goes  on  by  itself, 
— but  try  to  see  what  you  are  working  for.  I 
know  such  little  heavens  that  I  could  take 
you  to, —  islands  tucked  away  under  the  Line, 
You  sight  them  after  weeks  of  crashino: 
through  water  as  black  as  black  marble  be- 
cause it's  so  deep,  and  you  sit  in  the  fore- 
chains  day  after  day  and  see  the  sun  rise 
almost  afraid  because  the  sea's  so  lonely." 
*•  Who  is  afraid  ? — you,  or  the  sun  ?  " 


112       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  The  sun,  of  course.  And  there  are  noises 
under  the  sea,  and  sounds  overhead  in  a  clear 
sky.  Then  you  find  your  island  alive  with 
hot,  moist  orchids  that  make  mouths  at  you 
and  can  do  everything  except  talk.  There's 
a  waterfall  in  it  three  hundred  feet  high,  just 
like  a  sliver  of  green  jade  laced  with  silver ; 
and  millions  of  wild  bees  live  up  in  the  rocks  ; 
and  you  can  hear  the  fat  cocoanuts  falling 
from  the  palms ;  and  you  order  an  ivory- 
white  servant  to  sling  you  a  long,  yellow  ham- 
mock with  tassels  on  it  like  ripe  maize,  and 
you  put  up  your  feet  and  hear  the  bees  hum 
and  the  water  fall  till  you  go  to  sleep." 

"  Can  one  work  there  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  One  must  do  something  al- 
always.  You  hang  your  canvas  up  in  a  palm- 
tree  and  let  the  parrots  criticise.  When  they 
scuffle  you  heave  a  ripe  custard-apple  at  them, 
and  it  bursts  in  a  lather  of  cream.  There  are 
hundreds  of  places.     Come  and  see  them." 

"  I  don't  quite  like  that  place.  It  sounds 
lazy.     Tell  me  another." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  a  big,  red,  dead  city 
built  of  red  sandstone,  with  raw  green  aloes 
growing  between  the  stones,  lying  out  neglect- 
ed on  honey-colored  sands  ?  There  are  forty 
dead  kings  there,  Maisie,  each  in  a  gorgeous 
tomb  finer  than  all  the  others.  You  look  at  the 
palaces  and  streets  and  shops  and  tanks,  and 
think  that  men  must  live  there,  till  you  find  a 
wee  gray  squirrel  rubbing  its  nose  all  alone  in 
the  marketplace,  and  a  jeweled  peacock  struts 


■The  Light  that  Failed       113 

out  of  a  carved  doorway  and  spreads  its  tail 
against  a  marble  screen  as  fine  pierced  as 
point-lace.  Then  a  monkey — a  little  black 
monkey — walks  through  the  main  square  to 
get  a  drink  from  a  tank  forty  feet  deep.  He 
slides  down  the  creepers  to  the  water's  edge, 
and  a  friend  holds  him  by  the  tail,  in  case  he 
should  fall  in.'* 

"Is  all  that  true?" 

'*I  have  been  there  and  seen.  Then  even- 
ing comes,  and  the  lights  change  till  it's  just 
as  though  you  stood  in  the  heart  of  a  king- 
opal.  A  little  before  sundown,  as  punctually 
as  clock-work  a  big  bristly  wild  boar,  with  all 
his  family  following,  trots  through  the  city 
gate,  churning  the  foam  on  his  tusks.  You 
climb  on  the  shoulder  of  a  blind  black  stone 
god  and  watch  that  pig  choose  himself  a  palace 
for  the  night  and  stump  in  wagging  his  tail. 
Then  the  night-wind  gets  up,  and  the  sands 
move,  and  you  hear  the  desert  outside  the 
city  singing;  'Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,' 
and  everything  is  dark  till  the  moon  rises. 
Maisie  darling,  come  with  me  and  see  what 
the  world  is  really  like.  It's  very  lovely,  and 
it's  very  horrible, — but  I  won't  let  you  see 
anything  horrid, — and  it  doesn't  care  your  life 
or  mine  for  pictures  or  anything  else  except 
doing  its  own  work  and  making  love.  Come, 
and  I'll  show  you  how  to  brew  sangaree,  and 
sling  a  hammock,  and — oh,  thousands  of 
things,  and  you'll  see  for  yourself  what  color 
means,  and  we'll  find  out  together  what  love 


114       The  Light  that  Failed 

means,  and  then,  maybe,  we  shall  be  allowed 
to  do  some  good  work.     Come  away  !  " 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Maisie. 

"  How  can  you  do  anything  until  you  have 
seen  everything,  or  as  much  as  you  can  ? 
And  besides,  darling,  I  love  you.  Come 
along  with  me.  You  have  no  business  here  ; 
you  don't  belong  to  this  place  ;  you're  half  a 
gypsy, — your  face  tells  that ;  and  I — even  the 
smell  of  open  water  makes  me  restless.  Come 
across  the  sea  and  be  happy  !  " 

He  had  risen  to  his  feet,  and  stood  in  the 
shadow  of  the  gun,  looking  down  at  the  girl. 
The  very  short  winter  afternoon  had  worn 
away,  and,  before  they  knew,  the  winter  moon 
was  walking  the  untroubled  sea.  Long  ruled 
lines  of  silver  showed  where  a  ripple  of  the 
rising  tide  was  turning  over  the  mud-banks. 
The  wind  had  dropped,  and  in  the  intense  still- 
ness they  could  hear  a  donkey  cropping  the 
frosty  grass  many  yards  away.  A  faint  beat- 
ing like  that  of  a  muffled-drum  came  out  of  the 
moon-haze. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  Maisie,  quickly.  "  It 
sounds  like  a  heart  beating.      Where  is  it  .-^ '"' 

Dick  was  so  angry  at  this  sudden  wrench  to 
his  pleadings  that  he  could  not  trust  himself 
to  speak,  and  in  this  silence  caught  the  sound. 
Maisie  from  her  seat  under  the  gun  watched 
him  with  a  certain  amount  of  fear.  She 
wished  so  much  that  he  would  be  sensible  and 
cease  to  worry  her  with  over- sea  emotion  that 
she  both  could   and   could    not   understand. 


The  Light  that  Failed       115 

She  was  not  prepared,  however,  for  the 
change  in  his  face  as  he  listened. 

*'  It's  a  steamer,"  he  said, — "  a  twin-screw 
steamer,  by  the  beat.  I  can't  make  her  out, 
but  she  must  be  standing  very  close  in-shore. 
Ah  !  "  as  the  red  of  a  rocket  streaked  the  haze, 
*'  she's  standing  in  to  signal  before  she  clears 
the  Channel." 

"  Is  it  a  wreck  ? "  said  Maisie,  to  whom 
these  words  were  as  Greek. 

Dick's  eyes  were  turned  to  the  sea. 
*'  Wreck  !  What  nonsense  !  She's  only  re- 
porting herself.  Red  rocket  forward — there's 
a  green  light  aft  now,  and  two  red  rockets 
from  the  bridge." 

"  What  does  that  mean  .?  " 

"  It's  the  signal  of  the  Cross  Keys  Line 
running  to  Australia.  I  wonder  which  steamer 
itis. "  The  note  of  his  voice  had  changed; 
he  seemed  to  be  talking  to  himself,  and 
Maisie  did  not  approve  of  it.  The  moonlight 
broke  the  haze  for  a  moment,  touching  the 
black  sides  of  a  long  steamer  working  down 
Channel.  "  Four  masts  and  three  funnels — 
she's  in  deep  draught,  too.  That  must  be  the 
Barralong^  or  the  Bhutia.  No,  the  Bhutia  has 
a  clipper  bow.  It's  the  Ba7-raIong,  to  Austra- 
lia. She'll  lift  the  Southern  Cross  in  a  week, 
—lucky  old  tub  ! — oh,  lucky  old  tub  !  " 

He  stared  intently,  and  moved  up  the  slope 
of  the  fort  to  get  a  better  view,  but  the  mist 
on  the  sea  thickened  again,  and  the  beating 
of  the  screws  grew  fainter.     Maisie  called  to 


Ii6       The  Light  that  Failed 

him  a  little  angrily,  and  he  returned,  still 
keeping  his  eyes  to  seaward.  "  Have  you 
ever  seen  the  Southern  Cross  blazing  right 
over  your  head  ?  "  he  asked.     **  It's  superb  !  " 

"No,"  she  said,  shortly,  "and  I  don't  want 
to.  If  you  think  it's  so  lovely,  why  don't  you 
go  and  see  it  yourself  ? " 

She  raised  her  face  from  the  soft  blackness 
of  the  marten  skins  about  her  throat,  and  her 
eyes  shone  like  diamonds.  The  moonlight 
on  the  gray  kangaroo  fur  turned  it  to  frosted 
silver  of  the  coldest. 

*'  By  Jove,  Maisie,  you  look  like  a  little 
heathen  idol  tucked  up  there.''  The  eyes 
showed  that  they  did  not  appreciate  the  com- 
pliment. "  I'm  sorry,"  he  continued.  "  The 
Southern  Cross  isn't  worth  looking  at  unless 
some  one  helps  you  to  see.  That  steamer's 
out  of  hearing." 

*' Dick,"  she  said,  quietly,  "suppose  I  were 
to  come  to  you  now, — be  quiet  a  minute, — ■ 
just  as  I  am,  and  caring  for  you  just  as  much 
as  I  do." 

*'  Not  as  a  brother,  though  ?  You  said  you 
didn't— in  the  Park." 

"  I  never  had  a  brother.  Suppose  I  said, 
*  Take  me  to  those  places,  and  in  time,  per- 
haps, I  might  really  care  for  you,'  what  would 
you  do  ? " 

"  Send  you  straight  back  to  where  you  came 
from,  in  a  cab.  No,  I  wouldn't;  I'd  let  you 
walk.  But  you  couldn't  do  it,  dear.  And  I 
wouldn't   run    the    risk.     You're  worth  wait* 


The  Light  that  Failed       117 

ing  for  till  you  can  come  without  reserva- 
tion." 

"  Do  you  honestly  believe  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  hazy  sort  of  idea  that  I  do.  Has 
it  never  struck  you  in  that  light  ? " 

"  Ye — es.     I  feel  so  wicked  about  it." 

'*  Wickeder  than  usual  ?  " 

*'  You  don't  know  all  I  think.  It's  almost 
too  awful  to  tell." 

"  Never  mind.  You  promised  to  tell  me 
the  truth — at  least." 

"  It's  so  ungrateful  of  me,  but — but,  though 
I  know  you  care  for  me,  and  I  like  to  have 
you  with  me,  I'd — I'd  even  sacrifice  you,  if 
that  would  bring  me  what  I  want." 

**  My  poor  little  darling  !  I  know  that  state 
of  mind.     It  doesn't  lead  to  good  work." 

*'  You  aren't  angry  ?  Remember,  I  do  de- 
spise myself." 

"I'm  not  exactly  flattered, — I  had  guessed 
as  much  before, — but  I'm  not  angry.  I'm 
sorry  for  you.  Surely  you  ought  to  have  left 
a  littleness  like  that  behind  you,  years  ago." 

"  You've  no  right  to  patronize  me!  I  only 
want  what  I  have  worked  for  so  long.  It 
came  to  yon  without  any  trouble,  and — and  I 
don't  think  it's  fair." 

*'  What  can  I  do  ?  I'd  give  ten  years  of  my 
life  to  get  you  what  you  want.  But  I  can't 
help  you ;  even  I  can't  help." 

A  murmur  of  dissent  from  Maisie.  He 
went  on — 

'*  And  I  know  by  what  you  have  just  said 


ii8       The  Light  that  Failed 

that  you're  on  the  wrong  road  to  success.  It 
isn't  got  at  by  sacrificing  other  people, — I've 
had  that  much  knocked  into  me  ;  you  must 
sacrifice  yourself,  and  live  under  orders,  and 
never  think  for  yourself,  and  never  have  real 
satisfaction  ni  your  work  except  just  at  the 
beginning,  when  you're  reaching  out  after  a 
notion. 

"  How  can  you  believe  all  that  ?" 

"  There's  no  question  of  belief  or  disbelief. 
That's  the  law,  and  you  take  it  or  refuse  it  as 
you  please.  I  try  to  obey,  but  I  can't,  and 
then  my  work  turns  bad  on  my  hands.  Under 
any  circumstances,  remember,  four-fifths  of 
everybody's  work  must  be  bad.  But  the  rem- 
nant is  worth  the  trouble  for  its  ow^n  sake." 

*'  Isn't  it  nice  to  get  credit  even  for  bad 
work  ?  " 

"  It's  much  too  nice.  But —  May  I  tell 
you  something  ?  It  isn't  a  pretty  tale,  but 
you're  so  like  a  man  that  I  forget  when  I'm 
talkino^  to  you." 

"Tell  me." 

"  Once  when  I  was  out  in  the  Soudan  I  went 
over  some  ground  that  we  had  been  fighting 
on  for  three  days.  There  were  twelve  hundred 
dead  ;   and  we  hadn't  time  to  bury  them." 

"  How  ghastly  !  " 

"  I  had  been  at  work  on  a  big  double-sheet 
sketch,  and  I  was  wondering  what  people 
would  think  of  it  at  home.  The  sight  of  that 
field  taught  me  a  good  deal.  It  looked  just 
like  a  bed  of  horrible  toadstools  in  all  colors, 


The  Light  that  Failed        119 

and — I'd  never  seen  men  in  bulk  go  back  to 
their  beginnings  before.  So  I  began  to  under- 
stand that  men  and  women  were  only  material 
to  work  with,  and  that  what  they  said  or  did 
was  of  no  consequence.  See  ?  Strictly  speak- 
ing, you  might  just  as  well  put  your  ear  down 
to  the  palette  to  catch  what  your  colors  are 
saying." 

"  Dick,  that's  disgraceful !  " 
"Wait  a  minute,  I  said,  strictly  speaking. 
Unfortunately,   everybody  must  be  either    a 
man  or  a  woman." 

"  I'm  glad  you  allow  that  much." 
"  In  your  case  I  don't.  You  aren't  a  woman. 
But  ordinary  people,  Maisie,  must  behave 
and  work  as  such.  That's  what  makes  me  so 
savage."  He  hurled  a  pebble  toward  the  sea 
as  he  spoke.  "  I  know  that  it  is  outside  my 
business  to  care  what  people  say ;  I  can  see 
that  it  spoils  my  output  if  I  listen  to  'em  ; 
and  yet,  confound  it  all," — another  pebble 
flew  seaward, — "  I  can't  help  purring  when 
I'm  rubbed  the  right  way.  Even  when  I  can 
see  on  a  man's  forehead  that  he  is  lying  his 
way  through  a  clump  of  pretty  speeches,  those 
lies  make  me  happy  and  play  the  mischief 
with  my  hand." 

"  And  when  he  doesn't  say  pretty  things  ?  " 
"Then,  belovedest," — Dick  grinned, — "I 
forget  that  I  am  the  steward  of  these  gifts, 
and  I  want  to  make  that  man  love  and  ap- 
preciate my  work  with  a  thick  stick.  It's  too 
humiliating  altogether ;  but  I  suppose  even  if 


120       The  Light  that  Failed 

one  were  an  angel  and  painted  humans  alto 
gether  from  outside,  one  would  lose  in  touch 
what  one  gained  in  grip." 

Maisie  laughed  at  the  idea  of  Dick  as  an 
angel. 

"  But  you  seem  to  think,"  she  said,  "  that 
everything  nice  spoils  your  hand.'* 

"I  don't  think.  It's  the  law, — just  the 
same  as  it  was  at  Mrs.  Jennett's.  Everything 
that  is  nice  does  spoil  your  hand.  I'm  glad 
you  see  so  clearly." 

"  I  don't  like  the  view." 

"  Nor  I.  But — have  got  orders  :  what  can 
do  .'*  Are  you  strong  enough  to  face  it 
alone  ?  " 

'*  I  suppose  I  must." 

"  Let  me  help,  darling.  We  can  hold  each 
other  very  tight  and  try  to  walk  straight.  We 
shall  blunder  horribly,  but  it  will  be  better 
than  stumbling  apart.  Maisie,  can't  you  see 
reason  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  we  should  get  on  together. 
We  should  be  two  of  a  trade,  so  we  should 
never  agree." 

"  How  I  should  like  to  meet  the  man  who 
made  that  proverb  !  He  lived  in  a  cave  and 
ate  raw  bear,  I  fancy.  Fd  make  him  chew 
his  own  arrow-heads.     Well  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  only  half  married  to  you.  I 
should  worry  and  fuss  about  my  work,  as  I  do 
now.  Four  days  out  of  the  seven  I'm  not  fit 
to  speak  to." 

"  You  talk  as  if  no   one  else  in  the  world 


The  Light  that  Failed       121 

had  ever  used  a  brush.  D'you  suppose  that 
I  don't  know  the  feeling  of  worry  and  bother 
and  can't-get-at-ness  ?  You're  lucky  if  you 
only  have  it  four  days  out  of  the  seven.  What 
difference  would  that  make  ?" 

"A  great  deal — if  you  had  it  too." 

"  Yes,  but  I  could  respect  it.  Another  mai^ 
might  not.  He  might  laugh  at  you.  But 
there's  no  use  talking  about  it.  If  you  can 
think  in  that  way  you  can't  care  for  me — 
yet." 

The  tide  had  nearly  covered  the  mud-banks, 
and  twenty  little  ripples  broke  on  the  beach 
before  Maisie  chose  to  speak. 

*'  Dick,"  she  said,  slowly,  '*  I  believe  very 
much  that  you  are  better  than  I  am." 

**This  doesn't  seem  to  bear  on  the  argu- 
ment— but  in  what  way  ?  " 

"  I  don't  quite  know,  but  in  what  you  said 
about  work  and  things ;  and  then  you're  so 
patient.     Yes,  you're  better  than  I  am." 

Dick  considered  rapidly  the  murkiness  of 
an  average  man's  life.  There  was  nothing  in 
the  review  to  fill  him  with  a  sense  of  virtue. 
He  lifted  the  hem  of  the  cloak  to  his  lips. 

"  Why,'*  said  Maisie,  making  as  though  she 
had  not  noticed,  "can  you  see  things  that  I 
can't.'*  I  don't  believe  what  you  believe; 
but  you're  right,  I  believe." 

"  If  iVe  seen  anything,  God  knows  I 
couldn't  have  seen  it  but  for  you,  and  I  know 
that  I  couldn't  have  said  it  except  to  you. 
You  seemed  to  make  everything  clear  for  a 


122       The  Light  tnat  Failed 

minute ;  but  I  don't  practise  what  I  preach. 
You  would  help  me.  .  .  .  There  are  only  us 
two  in  the  world  for  all  purposes,  and — and  you 
like  to  have  me  with  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.  I  wonder  if  you  can 
realize  how  utterly  lonely  I  am  !  " 

"  Darling,  I  think  I  can." 

"  Two  years  ago,  when  I  first  took  the 
little  house,  I  used  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
back-garden  trying  to  cry.  I  never  can  cry. 
Can  you  ?  " 

"It's  sometime  since  I  tried.  What  was 
the  trouble  ?     Overwork  }  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  but  I  used  to  dream  that  I 
had  broken  down,  and  had  no  money,  and 
was  starving  in  London.  I  thought  about  it 
all  day,  and  it  frightened  me — oh,  how  it 
frightened  me !  " 

"  I  know  that  fear.  It's  the  most  terrible  of 
all.  It  wakes  me  up  in  the  night  sometimes. 
You  oughtn't  to  know  anything  about  it." 

"  How  dojyou  know  ?" 

"Never  mind.  Is  your  three  hundred  a 
year  safe }  " 

'Ht's  in  Consols." 

"Very  w^ell.  If  any  one  comes  to  you  and 
recommends  a  better  investment, — even  if 
I  should  come  to  you, — don't  you  listen. 
Never  shift  the  money  for  a  minute,  and  never 
lend  a  penny  of  it, — even  to  the  red-haired 
girl." 

"  Don't  scold  me  so  !  I'm  not  likely  to  be 
foolish." 


The  Light  that  Failed       123 

"The  earth  is  full  of  men  who'd  sell  their 
souls  for  three  hundred  a  year  ;  and  women 
come  and  talk,  and  borrow  a  five-pound  note 
here  and  a  ten-pound  note  there ;  and  a 
woman  has  no  conscience  in  a  money  debt. 
Stick  to  your  money,  Maisie ;  for  there's 
nothing  more  ghastly  in  the  world  than  pov- 
erty in  London.  It's  scared  me.  By  Jove, 
it  put  the  fear  into  77ie  !  And  one  oughtn't  to 
be  afraid  of  anything." 

To  each  man  is  appointed  his  particular 
dread, — the  terror  that,  if  he  does  not  fight 
against  it,  must  cow  him  even  to  the  loss  of 
his  manhood.  Dick's  experience  of  the  sor- 
did misery  of  want  had  entered  into  the  deeps 
of  him,  and,  lest  he  might  find  virtue  too  easy, 
that  memory  stood  behind  him,  tempting  to 
shame,  when  dealers  came  to  buy  his  wares. 
As  the  Nilghai  quaked  against  his  will  at  the 
still  green  water  of  a  lake  or  mill-dam,  as 
Torpenhow  flinched  before  any  white  arm 
that  could  cut  or  stab  and  loathed  himself  for 
flinching,  Dick  feared  the  poverty  he  had 
once  tasted  half  in  jest.  His  burden  was 
heavier  than  the  burdens  of  his  companions. 

Maisie  watched  the  face  working  in  the 
moonlight. 

''  You've  plenty  of  pennies  now,''  she  said, 
soothingly. 

"  I  shall  never  get  enough,"  he  began,  with 
vicious  emphasis.  Then,  laughing,  "  I  shall 
always  be  threepence  short  in  my  accounts." 

"  Why  threepence  "i  " 


124       The   Light  that  Failed 

'*  I  carried  a  man's  bag  once  from  Liver- 
pool Street  Station  to  Blackfriars  Bridge.  It 
was  a  six-penny  job, — you  needn't  laugli  ;  in- 
deed it  was, — and  I  wanted  the  money  des- 
perately. He  only  gave  me  threepence  ; 
and  he  hadn't  even  the  decency  to  pay  in 
silver.  Whatever  money  I  make,  I  shall 
never  get  that  odd  threepence  out  of  the 
world." 

This  was  not  language  befitting  the  man 
w^ho  had  preached  of  the  sanctity  of  work.  It 
jarred  on  Maisie,  who  preferred  her  payment 
in  applause,  which,  since  all  men  desire  it, 
must  be  of  the  right.  She  hunted  for  her  little 
purse  and  gravely  took  out  a  threepenny  bit. 

'*  There  it  is,"  she  said.  "  I'll  pay  you, 
Dickie  ;  and  don't  worry  any  more ;  it 
isn't  worth  while.     Are  you  paid.'*" 

*'I  am,"  said  the  very  human  apostle  of  fair 
craft,  taking  the  coin.  *'  I'm  paid  a  thousand 
times,  and  we'll  close  that  account.  It  shall 
live  on  my  watch-chain  ;  and  you're  an  angel, 
Maisie.'* 

*'rm  very  cramped,  and  I'm  feeling  a  little 
cold.  Good  gracious  !  the  cloak  is  all  white, 
and  so  is  your  moustache  I  I  never  knew  it 
was  so  chilly.'* 

A  light  frost  lay  white  on  the  shoulder  of 
Dick's  ulster.  He,  too,  had  forgotten  the  state 
of  the  weather.  They  laughed  together,  and 
with  that  laugh  ended  all  serious  discourse. 

They  ran  inland  across  the  waste  to  warm 
themselves,  then  turned  to  look  at  the  glory  of 


The  Light  that  Failed       125 

the  full  tide  under  the  moonlight,  and  the  in- 
tense black  shadows  of  the  furze-bushes.  It 
was  an  additional  joy  to  Dick  that  Maisie 
could  see  color  even  as  he  saw  it, — could  see 
the  blue  in  the  white  of  the  mist,  the  violet  that 
is  in  gray  palings,  and  all  things  else  as  they 
are, — not  of  one  hue,  but  a  thousand.  And 
the  moonlight  came  into  Maisie's  soul,  so  that 
she,  usually  reserved,  chattered  of  herself  and 
of  the  things  she  took  interest  in, — of  Kami, 
wisest  of  teachers,  and  of  the  girls  in  the 
studio, — of  the  Poles,  who  will  kill  themselves 
with  overwork  if  they  are  not  checked;  of  the 
French,  who  talk  at  great  length  of  much  more 
than  they  will  ever  accomplish  ;  of  the  slovenly 
English,  who  will  toil  hopelessly  and  cannot 
understand  that  inclination  does  not  imply 
power ;  of  the  Americans,  whose  rasping 
voices  in  the  hush  of  a  hot  afternoon  strain 
tense-drawn  nerves  to  breaking-point,  and 
whose  suppers  lead  to  indigestion  ;  of  temptes- 
tuous  Russians,  neither  to  hold  nor  to  bind, who 
tell  the  girls  ghost  stories  till  the  girls  shriek; 
of  stolid  Germans,  who,  come  to  learn  one 
thing,  and,  having  mastered  that  much, 
stolidly  go  away  and  copy  pictures  forever- 
more.  Dick  listened  enraptured  because 
it  was  Maisie  who  spoke.  He  knew  the 
old  life. 

''  It  hasn't  changed  much,"  he  said.  "  Do 
they  still  steal  colors  at  lunch-time } " 

*'  Not  steal.  Attract  is  the  word.  Of 
course    they   do.     I'm   good — I    only  attract 


126       The  Light  that  Failed 

ultramarine;    but    there  are    students    who'd 
attract  flake-white. " 

*•  I've  done  it  myself.  You  can't  help  it 
when  the  palettes  are  hung  up.  Every  color 
is  common  property  once  it  runs  down, — even 
though  you  do  start  it  with  a  drop  of  oil.  It 
teaches  people  not  to  waste  their  tubes.  " 

"  I  should  like  to  attract  some  of  your 
colors,  Dick.  Perhaps  I  might  catch  your 
success  with  them." 

"I  mustn't  say  a  bad  word,  but  I  should 
like  to.  What  in  the  world,  which  you've 
just  missed  a  lovely  chance  of  seeing,  does 
success  or  want  of  success,  or  a  three-storied 

success,    matter    compared   with No,  I 

won't  open  that  question  again.     It's  time  to 
go  back  to  town. " 

'•  I'm  sorry,  Dick,  but " 

"You're  much  more  interested  in  that  than 
you  are  in  me." 

"I  don't  know.     I  don't  think  I  am." 

"  What  will  you  give    me    if    I    tell   you   a 
sure  short-cut  to  everything  you  want, — the 
trouble  and  the  fuss  and  the    tangle  and    air 
the  rest .?     Will  you  promise  to  obey  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  must  never  forget 
a  meal  because  you  happen  to  be  at  work. 
You  forgot  your  lunch  twice  last  week,"  said 
Dick,  at  a  venture,  for  he  knew  with  whom  he 
was  dealing. 

*'  No,  no, — only  once,  really." 

"  That's  bad  enough.     And  you  musn't  take 


The  Light  that  Failed       127 

a  cup  of  tea  and  a  biscuit  in  place  of  a  reg- 
ular dinner,  because  dinner  happens  to  be  a 
trouble." 

"  You're  making  fun  of  me  !  " 

"  I  never  was  more  in  earnest  in  my  life. 
Oh,  my  love,  my  love,  hasn't  it  dawned  on 
you  yet  what  you  are  to  me  ?  Here's  the 
whole  earth  in  a  conspiracy  to  give  you  a 
chill,  or  run  over  you,  or  drench  you  to  the 
skin,  or  cheat  you  out  of  your  money,  or  let 
you  die  of  overwork  and  underfeeding,  and 
I  haven't  the  mere  right  to  look  after  you. 
Why,  I  don't  even  know  if  you  have  sense 
enough  to  put  on  warm  things  when  the 
weather's  cold." 

"  Dick,  you're  the  most  awful  boy  to  talk  to 
— really  !  How  do  you  suppose  I  managed 
when  you  were  away  ?  " 

"  I  wasn't  here,  and  I  didn't  know.  But 
now  I'm  back  I'd  give  everything  I  have  for 
the  right  of  telling  you  to  come  in  out  of  the 
rain." 

"  Your  success  too  ?  " 

This  time  it  cost  Dick  a  severe  struggle  to 
refrain  from  bad  words. 

"  As  Mrs.  Jennett  used  to  say,  you're  a 
trial,  Maisie  !  You've  been  cooped  up  in  the 
schools  too  long,  and  you  think  every  one  is 
looking  at  you.  There  aren't  twelve  hundred 
people  in  the  world  who  understand  pictures. 
The  others  pretend  and  don't  care.  Remember, 
I've  seen  twelve  hundred  men  dead  in  toad- 
stool-beds.    It's  only  the  voice  of   the   tiniest 


128       The  Light  that  Failed 

little  fraction  of  people  that  makes  success. 
The  real  world  doesn't  care  a  tinker's-^ 
doesn't  care  a  bit.  For  aught  you  or  I  know^ 
every  man  in  the  world  may  be  arguing  with  a 
Maisie  of  his  own." 

"  Poor  Maisie  !  " 

*'  Poor  Dick,  I  think.  Do  you  believe  while 
he's  fighting  for  what's  dearer  than  his  life  he 
wants  to  look  at  a  picture  ^  And  even  if  he 
did,  and  if  all  the  world  did,  and  a  thousand 
million  people  rose  up  and  shouted  hymns  to 
my  honor  and  glory,  would  that  make  up  to 
me  for  the  knowledge  that  you  were  out  shop- 
ping in  the  Edgware  Road  on  a  rainy  day 
without  an  umbrella?  Now  we'll  go  to  the 
station." 

"  But  you  said  on  the  beach  "-—persisted 
Maisie,  with  a  certain  fear. 

Dick  groaned  aloud:  "Yes,  I  know  what  I 
said.  My  work  is  everything  I  have,  or  am, 
or  hope  to  be,  to  me,  and  I  believe  I've  learned 
the  law  that  governs  it ;  but  I've  some  linger- 
ing sense  of  fun  left, — though  you  nearly 
knocked  it  out  of  me.  I  can  just  see  that  it 
isn't  everything  to  all  the  world.  Do  what  I 
say,  and  not  v/hat  I  do." 

Maisie  was  careful  not  to  reopen  debatable 
matters,  and  they  returned  to  London  joy- 
ously. The  terminus  stopped  Dick  in  the  midst 
of  an  eloquent  harangue  on  the  beauties  of. 
exercise.  He  would  buy  Maisie  a  horse. — 
such  a  horse  as  never  yet  bowed  head  to  bit, 
—would    stable    it,  with    a  companir*'     some 


The  Light  that  Failed       129 

twenty  miles  from  London,  and  Maisie,  solely 
for  her  health's  sake,  should  ride  with  him 
twice  or  thrice  a  week. 

"  That's  absurd,"  said  she.  "  It  wouldn't 
be  proper." 

"  Now,  who  in  all  London  to-night  would 
have  sufficient  interest  or  audacity  to  call  us 
two  to  account  for  anything  we  chose  to  do  ?  " 

Maisie  looked  at  the  lamps,  the  fog,  and 
the  hideous  turmoil.  Dick  was  right ;  but 
horse-flesh  did  not  make  for  Art  as  she  under- 
stood it. 

"  You're  very  nice  sometimes,  but  you're 
very  foolish  more  times.  I'm  not  going  to  let 
you  give  me  horses,  or  take  you  out  of  your 
way  to-night.  I'll  go  home  by  myself.  Only 
I  want  you  to  promise  me  something.  You 
won't  think  any  more  about  that  extra  three- 
pence, will  you  ?  Remember,  you've  been 
paid;  and  I  won't  allow  you  to  be  spiteful  and 
do  bad  work  for  a  little  thing  like  that.  You 
can  be  so  big  that  you  mustn't  be  tiny." 

This  was  turning  the  tables  with  a  vengeance. 
There  remained  only  to  put  Maisie  into  iier 
hansom. 

*' Good-by, "  she  said,  simply.  "You'll 
come  on  Sunday.  It  has  been  a  beautiful  day, 
Dick.     Why  can't  it  be  like  this  always? " 

*' Because  love's  like  line-work:  you  must 
go  forward  or  backward  ;  you  can't  stand  stilL 
By  the  way,  go  on  with  your  line-work.  Good- 
night, and,  for  my — for  any  sake,  take  care  of 
yourself." 
9 


130       The   Light  that  Failed 

Ke  turned  to  walk  home,  meditating.  The 
da}'  had  brought  him  nothing  that  he  hoped 
for,  but — surely  this  was  worth  many  days — ■ 
it  had  brought  him  nearer  to  Maisie.  The  end 
was  only  a  question  of  time  now,  and  the  prize 
well  worth  the  waiting.  By  instinct,  once  more 
h.e  turned  to  the  river. 

"  And  she  understood  at  once,"  he  said, 
looking  at  the  water.  "  She  found  out  my  pet 
besetting  sin  on  the  spot,  and  paid  it  off.  My 
God,  how  she  understood  !  And  she  said  I 
was  better  than  she  was  J  Better  than  she 
was  !  '*  He  laughed  at  the  absurdity  of  the 
notion.  "  I  wonder  if  girls  guess  at  one-half 
a  man's  life.  They  can't,  or — they  wouldn't 
marry  us. "  He  took  her  gift  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  considered  it  in  the  light  of  a  miracle  and 
a  pledge  of  the  comprehension  that,  one  day, 
would  lead  to  perfect  happiness.  Meantime, 
Maisie  was  alone  in  London,  with  none  to 
save  her  from  danger.  And  the  packed  wilder- 
ness was  very  full  of  danger. 

Dick  made  his  prayer  to  Fate  disjointedly 
after  the  manner  of  the  heathen  as  he  threw 
the  piece  of  silver  into  the  river.  If  any  evil 
were  to  befall,  let  him  bear  the  burden  and  let 
Maisie  go  unscathed,  since  the  threepenny 
piece  was  dearest  to  him  of  all  his  possessions, 
it  was  a  small  coin  in  itself,  but  Maisie  had 
given  it,  and  the  Thames  held  it,  and  surely 
the  Fates  would  be  bribed  for  this  once. 

The  drowning  of  the  coin  seemed  to  cut  him 
free  from  thought  of  IMaisie  for   the  moment. 


The  Light  that  Failed       131 

He  took  himself  off  the  bridge  and  went  whis- 
tling to  his  chambers  with  a  strong  yearning  for 
some  man-talk  and  tobacco  after  his  first  ex- 
perience of  an  entire  day  spent  in  the  society 
of  a  woman.  There  was  a  stronger  desire  at 
his  heart  when  there  rose  before  him  an  un- 
solicited vision  of  the  ^^rr<7/^;/^ dipping  deep 
and  sailing  free  for  the  Southern  Cross. 


132       The  Light  that  Failed 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

And  these  two,  as  I  have  told  you. 
Were  the  friends  of  Hiawatha, 
Chibiabos,  the  musician, 
And  the  very  strong  man,  Kwasind, 

•^Hiawatha, 

ToRPENHOW  was  paging  the  last  sheets  of 
some  manuscript,  while  the  Nilghai,  who  had 
come  for  chess  and  remained  to  talk  tactics, 
was  reading  through  the  first  part,  commenting 
scornfully  the  while. 

"  It's  picturesque  enough  and  it's  sketchy," 
said  he  ;  *'  but  as  a  serious  consideration  of 
affairs  in  Eastern  Europe,  it's  not  worth 
much." 

"  It's  off  my  hands  at  any  rate.  ,  .  .  Thirty- 
seven,  thirty-eight,  thirty-nine  slips  altogether, 
aren't  there  ?  That  should  make  between 
eleven  and  tvvelve  pages  of  valuable  misinf or- 
ation. Heigho  !  "  Torpenhow  shuffled  the 
writing  together  and  hummed — 

Young  lambs  to  sell,  young  lambs  to  sell» 
If  I'd  as  much  money  as  I  couid  tell, 
I  never  would  cry,  Young  lambs  to  sell  \ 

Dick  entered,  self-conscious  and  a  little  de« 
fiant,  but  in  the  best  of  tempers  with  all  th^ 
world. 

"  Back  at  last } "  said  Torpenhow, 


The  Light  that  Failed       133 
**  More  or  less.     What  have  you  been  do- 

'*  Work,  Dickie,  you  behave  as  though  the 
Bank  of  England  were  behind  you.  Here's 
Sunday,  Monday,  and  Tuesday  gone  and  you 
haven't  done  a  line.     It's  scandalous." 

*^  The  notions  come  and  go,  my  children — 
they  come  and  go  like  our  'baccy/'  he  an- 
swered, filling  his  pipe.  *'  Moreover,"  he 
stooped  to  thrust  a  spill  into  the  grate,  *'  Apoll-' 
does  not  always  stretch  his —  Oh,  confound 
your  clumsy  jests,  Nilghai  !  " 

"This  is  not  the  place  to  preach  the  theory 
of  direct  inspiration,"  said  the  Nilghai,  re- 
turning Torpenhow's  large  and  workmanlike 
bellows  to  their  nail  on  the  wall.  *'  We  be- 
lieve in  cobblers'  wax.  Za  ! — where  you  sit 
down." 

"  If  you  weren't  so  big  and  fat,"  said  Dick, 
looking  round  for  a  weapon,  "  I'd " 

"  No  skylarking  in  my  rooms.  You  two 
smashed  half  my  furniture  last  time  you  threw 
the  c^ishlons  about.  You  might  have  the  de- 
cency to  say  How  d'  you  do  ?  to  Binkie.  Look 
at  him." 

Binkie  had  jumped  down  from  the  sofa  and 
was  fawning  round  Dick's  knee,  and  scratch- 
ing at  his  boots. 

"  Dear  man  !  "  said  Dickie,  snatching  him 
up,  and  kissing  him  on  the  black  patch  above 
his  right  eye.  "  Did  ums  was,  Binks  ?  Did 
that  ugly  Nilghai  turn  you  off  the  sofa  ?  Bite 
him,  Mr,  Binkie.'*     He  pitched  him   on  the 


134       The  Light  that  Failed 

Nilghai's  stomach,  as  the  big  man  lay  at  ease, 
and  Binkie  pretended  to  destroy  tlie  Nilghai 
inch  by  inch,  till  a  sofa  cushion  extinguished 
him,  and  panting  he  stuck  out  his  tongue  at 
the  company. 

"  The  Binkie-boy  M'ent  for  a  walk  this  morn- 
ing before  you  were  up,  Torp.  ^  saw  him 
making  love  to  the  butcher  at  the  corner 
when  the  shutters  were  being  taken  down — 
just  as  if  he  hadn't  enough  to  eat  in  his  own 
proper  house,"  said  Dick. 

"Binks,  is  that  a  true  bill  .'* "  said  Torpen- 
how  severely.  The  little  dog  retreated  under 
the  sofa-cushion,  and  showed  by  the  fat  white 
back  of  him  that  he  really  had  no  further  in- 
terest in  the  discussion. 

"  'Strikes  me  that  another  disreputable  dog 
went  for  a  walk,  too,'"'  said  the  Nilghai. 
"  What  made  you  get  up  so  early  ?  Torp  said 
you  might  be  buying  a  horse  ?  " 

"  He  knows  it  would  need  three  of  us  for  a 
serious  business  like  that.  No,  I  felt  lone- 
some and  unhappy,  so  I  went  out  to  look  at 
the  sea,  and  watch  the  pretty  ships  go  by." 

"  Where  did  you  go  ?  " 

"  Somewhere  on  the  Channel.  Progly  or 
Snigly,  or  some  one-horse  watering-place  was 
its  name  ;  I've  forgotten  ;  but  it  was  only  two 
hours'  run  from  London  and  the  ships  went 
by." 

"  Did  you  see  anything  you  knew  ?  " 

"  Only  the  Barra/o/ig  outward  to  Australia, 
and  an  Odessa  grain-boat  loaded  down  by  the 


The  Light  that  Failed       13  = 

head.  It  was  a  thick  day,  but  the  sea  smel 
good." 

"  Wherefore  put  on  one's  best  trousers  t( 
SQQ  XhQ  Barralong  ? ''  said  Torpenhow,  point 
ing. 

"  Because  I've  nothing  except  these  thing: 
and  my  painting  duds.  Besides,  I  wanted  t( 
do  honor  to  the  sea." 

"  Did  she  make  you  feel  restless  ?  "  askec 
the  Nilghai,  keenly. 

"  Crazy.  Don't  speak  of  it.  I'm  sorry  . 
went." 

Torpenhow  and  the  Nilghai  exchanged  £ 
look  as  Dick,  stooping,  busied  himself  amon^ 
the  former's  boots  and  trees. 

"  These  will  do,"  he  said  at  last ;  ''  I  can' 
say  I  think  much  of  your  taste  in  slippers 
but  the  fit's  the  thing."  He  slipped  his  fee 
into  a  pair  of  sock-like  sambhur-skin  fooi 
coverings,  found  a  long  chair,  and  lay  a: 
length. 

"  They're  my  own  pet  pair,"  TorpenhoM 
said.  "  I  was  just  going  to  put  them  on  my 
self." 

"All  your  reprehensible  selfishness.  Jus' 
because  you  see  me  happy  for  a  minute,  yoi 
want  to  worry  me  and  stir  me  up.  Fine 
another  pair." 

"  Good  for  you  that  Dick  can't  wear  youi 
clothes,  Torp.  You  two  live  communisti- 
cally,"  said  the  Nilghai. 

"  Dick  never  has  anything  that  I  can  wear. 
He's  only  useful  to  sponge  upon." 


136       The  Light  that  Failed 

**  Confound  you,  have  you  been  rummaging 
round  among  my  caches,  then  ?  "  said  Dick. 
"  I  put  a  sovereign  in  the  tobacco-jar  yester- 
day. How  do  you  expect  a  man  to  keep  his 
accounts  properly  if  you " 

Here  the  Nilghai  began  to  laugh,  and  Tor- 
penhow  joined  him. 

'*  Hid  a  sovereign  yesterday  !  You're  no 
sort  of  a  financier.  You  loaned  me  a  fiver 
about  a  month  back.  Do  you  remember  ? " 
Torpenhow  said. 

'*  Yes,  of  course." 

"  Do  you  remember  that  I  paid  it  you  ten 
days  later,  and  you  put  it  at  the  bottom  of  the 
tobacco  ?  " 

"  By  Jove,  did  I  ?  I  thought  it  was  in  one 
of  my  color-boxes. " 

*'  You  thought  !  About  a  week  ago  I  went 
into  your  studio  to  get  some  'baccy  and  found 
it." 

*'  What  did  you  do  with  it }  " 

"  Took  the  Nilghai  to  a  theater  and  fed  him." 

"You  couldn't  feed  the  Nilghai  under  twice 
the  money — not  though  you  gave  him  Army 
beef.  Well,  I  suppose  I  should  have  found  it 
out  sooner  or  later.  What  is  there  to  laugh  at  ? " 

**  You're  a  most  amazing  cuckoo  in  many 
directions,"  said  the  Nilghai,  still  chuckling 
over  the  thought  of  the  dinner.  '*  Never 
mind.  We  had  both  been  working  very  hard, 
and  it  was  your  unearned  increment  we  spent, 
and  as  you're  only  a  loafer  it  didn't  matter." 

"  That's  pleasant — from    the    man   who    is 


The  Light  that  Failed       137 

bursting  with  my  meat,  too.  I'll  get  that 
dinner  back  one  of  these  days.  Suppose  we 
go  to  a  theater  now." 

*'  'Put  our  boots  on, — and  dress, — and 
wash  ?  "     The  Nilghai  spoke  very  lazily. 

"  I  withdraw  the  motion." 

"  Suppose,  just  for  a  change — as  a  startling 
variety,  you  know — we,  that  is  to  say  we,  get 
our  charcoal  and  our  canvas  and  go  on  with 
our  work."  Torpenhow  spoke  pointedly,  but 
Dick  only  wriggled  his  toes  inside  the  soft 
leather  moccasins. 

'*  What  a  one-idead  clucker  it  is  !  If  I  had 
any  unfinished  figures  on  hand,  I  haven't  any 
model;  if  I  had  my  model,  I  haven't  any 
spray,  and  I  never  leave  charcoal  unfixed 
over  night ;  and  if  I  had  my  spray  and  twenty 
photographs  of  backgrounds.  I  couldn't  do 
anything  to-night.     I  don't  feel  that  way." 

*' Binkie-dog,  he's  a  lazy  hog,  isn't  he.'*" 
said  the  Nilghai. 

"  Very  good,  I  will  do  some  work,"  said 
Dick,  rising  swiftly.  "  I'll  fetch  the  Nunga- 
punga  Book,  and  we'll  add  another  picture  to 
the  Nilghai  Saga." 

"  Aren't  you  worrying  him  a  little  too 
much.?"  asked  the  Nilghai,  when  Dick  had 
left  the  room. 

''  Perhaps,  but  I  know  what  he  can  turn 
out  if  he  likes.  It  makes  me  savage  to  hear 
him  praised  for  past  work  when  I  know  what 
he  ous^ht  to  do.  You  and  I  are  arranged 
for ^" 


138       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  By  Kismet  and  our  own  powers,  more's 
the  pity.     I  have  dreamed  of  a  good  deal." 

"So  have  I,  but  we  know  our  limitations 
now.  I'm  dashed  if  1  know  what  Dick's  may 
be  when  he  gives  himself  to  his  work.  I'hat's 
what  makes  me  so  keen  about  him." 

"  And  when  all's  said  and  done,  you  v.'ill 
beput  aside — quite  rightly — for  afemale  girl.  ' 

"  I  wonder.  .  .  .  Where  do  you  think  he 
has  been  to-day.? " 

"  To  the  sea.  Didn't  you  see  the  look  in 
his  eyes  when  he  talked  about  her  ?  He's  as 
restless  as  a  swallow  in  autumn." 

"  Yes  ;  but  did  he  go  alone  .''  " 

"  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care,  but  he 
has  the  beginnings  of  the  go-fever  upon  him. 
He  wants  to  up-stakes  and  move  out.  There's 
no  mistaking  the  signs.  Whatever  he  may 
have  said  before,  he  has  the  call  upon  him 
now." 

"It  might  be  his  salvation,"  Torpenhow 
said. 

"  Perhaps — if  you  care  to  take  the  responsi- 
bility of  being  a  saviour  :  I'm  averse  to  tam- 
pering with  souls  myself." 

Dick  returned  with  a  great  clasp  sketch- 
book that  the  Nilghai  knew  well  and  did  not 
love  too  much.  In  it  Dick  had  drawn  in  his 
playtime  all  manner  of  moving  incidents,  ex- 
perienced by  himself  or  related  to  him  by  the 
others,  of  all  the  four  corners  of  the  earth. 
But  the  wider  range  of  the  Nilghai's  body 
and  life  attracted  him  most.     When  truth  failed 


The  Light  that  Failed       139 

here  he  fell  back  on  fiction  of  the  wildest, 
and  represented  incidents  in  the  Nilghai's 
career  that  were  unseemly, — his  marriages 
with  many  African  princesses,  his  shameless 
betrayal,  for  Arab  wives,  of  army  corps  to 
the  Mahdi,  his  tattooment  by  skilled  operators 
in  Burmah,  his  interview  (and  his  fears)  with 
the  yellow  headsman  in  the  blood-stained  ex- 
ecution-ground of  Canton,  and  finally,  the 
passings  of  his  spirit  into  the  bodies  of  whales, 
elephants,  and  toucans.  Torpenhow  from 
time  to  time  had  added  rhymed  descriptions, 
and  the  whole  was  a  curious  piece  of  art, 
because  Dick  decided,  having  regard  to  the 
name  of  the  book  which  being  interpreted 
means  "  naked,"  that  it  would  be  wrong  to 
draw  the  Nilghai  with  any  clothes  on,  under 
any  circumstances.  Consequently  the  last 
sketch,  representing  that  much-enduring  man 
calling  on  the  War  Office  to  press  his  claims 
to  the  Egyptian  medal,  was  hardly  delicate. 
He  settled  himself  comfortably  at  Torpen- 
how's  table  and  turned  over  the  pages. 

"  What  a  fortune  you  would  have  been  to 
Blake,  Nilghai  !  "  he  said.  There's  a  suc- 
culent pinkness  about  some  of  these  sketches 
that's  more  than  lifelike.  '  The  Nilghai  sur- 
rounded while  bathing  by  the  Madieh  ' — that 
was  founded  on  fact,  eh  ?  " 

"  It  was  very  nearly  my  last  bath,  you  irrever- 
ent dauber.  Has  Binkie  come  into  the  Saga 
yet  ?  " 

"  No  ;  the  Binkie-boy  hasn't  done  anything 


140       The  Light  that  Failed 

except  eat  and  kill  cats.  Let's  see.  Here 
you  are  as  a  stained-glass  saint  in  a  church. 
'Deuced  decorative  lines  about  your  anatomy; 
you  ought  to  be  grateful  for  being  handed 
down  to  posterity  in  this  way.  Fifty  years 
hence  you'll  exist  in  rare  and  curious  fac- 
similes at  ten  guineas  each.  What  shall  I 
try  this  time  ?  The  domestic  life  of  the 
Nilghai?" 

"  'Hasn't  got  any." 

"The  undomestic  life  of  the  Nilghai,  then. 
Of  course  !  Mass-meeting  of  his  wives  in 
Trafalgar  Square.  That's  it.  They  came 
from  the  ends  of  the  earth  to  attend  Nilghai's 
wedding  to  an  English  bride.  This  shall  be 
in  sepia.     It's  a  s\veet  material  to  work  with." 

"  It's  a  scandalous  waste  of  time,"  said 
Torpenhow. 

"Don't  worry;  it  keeps  one's  hand  in — • 
specially  when  you  begin  without  the  pencil." 
He  set  to  work  rapidly.  "  That's  Nelson's 
Column.  Presently  the  Nilghai  will  appear 
shinning  up  it." 

"Give  him  some  clothes  this  time." 

*'  Certainly — a  veil  and  an  orange-wreath, 
because  he's  been  married." 

*'  Gad,  that's  clever  enough  !  "  said  Torpen- 
how, over  his  shoulder,  as  Dick  brought  out 
of  the  paper  with  three  twirls  of  the  brush  a 
very  fat  back  and  laboring  shoulder  pressed 
against  the  stone. 

**Just  imagine,"  Dick  continued,  "if  we 
could  publish  a  few  of  these  dear  little  things 


The  Light  that  Failed       141 

every  time  the  Nilghai  subsidizes  a  man  who 
can  write,  to  give  the  public  an  honest  opin- 
ion of  my  pictures." 

"  Well,  you'll  admit  I  always  tell  you  when 
I  have  done  anything  of  that  kind.  1  know  I 
can't  hammer  you  as  you  ought  to  be  ham- 
mered, so  I  give  the  job  to  another.  Young 
Maclagan,  for  instance " 


"  No-o — one  half-minute,  old  'man  ;  stick 
your  hand  out  against  the  dark  of  the  wall- 
paper— you  only  burble  and  call  me  names. 
That  left  shoulder's  out  of  drawing.  I  must 
literally  throw  a  veil  over  that.  Where's  my 
pen-knife  ?     Well,  what  about  Maclagan  ?  " 

*'I  only  gave  him  his  riding-orders  to — to 
lambast  you  on  general  principles  for  not  pro- 
ducing work  that  will  last. " 

"  Whereupon  that  young  fool," — Dick  threw 
back  his  head  and  shut  one  eye  as  he  shifted 
the  page  under  his  hand, — "being  left  alone 
with  an  ink-pot  and  what  he  conceived  were 
his  own  notions,  went  and  spilled  them  both 
over  me  in  the  papers.  You  might  have  en- 
gaged a  grown  man  for  the  business,  Nilghai. 
How  do  you  think  the  bridal  veil  looks  now, 
Torp  ? " 

"  How  the  deuce  do  three  dabs  and  two 
scratches  make  the  stuff  stand  away  from  the 
body  as  it  does  ? "'  said  Torpenhow,  to  whom 
Dick's  methods  were  always  new. 

"  It  just  depends  on  where  you  put  'em.  If 
Maclagan  had  known  that  much  about  his 
business  he  might  have  done  better." 


142       The  Light  that  Failed 

"Why  don't  you  put  the  damned  dabs  into 
something  that  will  stay,  then  ?  "  insisted  the 
Nilghai,  who  had  really  taken  considerable 
trouble  in  hiring  for  Dick's  benetit  the  pen  of 
a  young  gentleman  who  devoted  most  of  his 
waking  hours  to  an  anxious  consideration  of 
the  aims  and  ends  of  Art,  which,  he  wrote, 
was  one  and  indivisible. 

"Wait  a  minute  till  I  see  how  I  am  going 
to  manage  my  procession  of  wives.  You 
seem  to  have  married  extensively,  and  I  must 
rough  'em  in  with  the  pencil — Medes,  Par- 
thians,  Edomites.  .  .  .  Now,  setting  aside  the 
weakness  and  the  wickedness  and — and  the 
fat-headedness  of  deliberately  trying  to  do 
work  that  will  live,  as  they  call  it,  I'm  content 
with  the  knowledge  that  I've  done  my  best  up 
to  date,  and  I  shan't  do  anything  like  it  again 
for  some  hours  at  least — probably  years.  Most 
probably  never." 

"What!  any  stuff  you  have  in  stock  your 
best  work  ?  "  said  Torpenhow. 

"Anything  you've  sold?"  said  the  Nilghai. 

"  Oh,  no.  It  isn't  here  and  it  isn't  sold. 
Better  than  that,  it  can't  be  sold,  and  I  don't 
think  any  one  knows  where  it  is.  I'm  sure  I 
don't.  .  .  .  And  yet  more  and  more  wives,  on 
the  north  side  of  the  square.  Observe  the 
virtuous  horror  of  the  lions  !  " 

*'  You  may  as  well  explain,"  said  Torpen- 
how, and  Dick  lifted  his  head  from  the  paper. 

"The  sea  reminded  me  of  it,"  he  said, 
slowly.     "  I  wish  it  hadn't.     It  weighs  some 


The  Light  that  Failed        143 

few  thousand  tons — unless  you  cut  it  out  with 
a  cold  chisel." 

"  Don't  be  an  idiot.  You  can't  pose  with 
us  here,"  said  the  Nilghai. 

"  There's  no  pose  in  the  matter  at  all.  It's 
a  fact.  1  was  loafing  from  Lima  to  Auckland 
in  a  big,  old,  condemned  passenger-ship  turned 
into  a  cargo-boat  and  owned  by  a  second-hand 
Italian  firm.  She  was  a  crazy  basket.  We 
were  cut  down  to  fifteen  ton  of  coal  a  day, 
and  we  thought  ourselves  lucky  when  we 
kicked  seven  knots  an  hour  out  of  her.  Then 
we  used  to  stop  and  let  the  bearings  cool  down, 
and  wonder  whether  the  crack  in  the  shaft 
was  spreading." 

"  Were  you  a  steward  or  a  stoker  in  those 
days .?  " 

"  1  was  flush  for  the  time  being,  so  I  was  a 
passenger,  or  else  I  should  have  been  a  stew- 
ard, I  think,"  said  Dick,  with  perfect  gravity, 
returning  to  the  procession  of  angry  wives, 
"  I  was  the  only  other  passenger  from  Lima, 
and  the  ship  was  half  empty,  and  full  of  rats 
and  cockroaches  and  scorpions." 

*'  But  what  has  this  to  do  with  the  picture  ?  " 

"  Wait  a  minute.  She  had  been  in  the 
China  passenger  trade  and  her  lower  deck 
had  bunks  for  two  thousand  pigtails.  Those 
were  all  taken  down,  and  she  was  empty  up 
to  her  nose,  and  the  lights  came  through  the 
port-holes — most  annoying  lights  to  work  in 
till  you  got  used  to  them.  I  hadn't  anything 
to  do  for  weeks.     The  ship's  charts  were  in 


144       The  Light  that  Failed 

pieces  and  our  skipper  daren't  run  south  for 
fear  of  catching  a  storm.  So  he  did  his  best 
to  knock  all  the  Society  Islands  out  of  the 
water  one  by  one,  and  I  went  into  the  lower 
deck,  and  did  my  picture  on  the  port  side  as 
far  forward  in  her  as  I  could  go.  There  was 
some  brown  paint  and  some  green  paint  that 
they  used  for  the  boats,  and  some  black  paint 
for  iron-work,  and  that  was  all  I  had." 

"  The  passengers  must  have  thought  vou 
mad." 

**  There  was  only  one,  and  it  was  a  woman  ; 
but  it  gave  me  the  notion  of  my  picture." 

"What  was  she  like  ?  "  said  Torpenhow. 

"  She  was  a  sort  of  Negroid-Jewess-Cuban  ; 
with  morals  to  match.  She  couldn't  read  or 
write,  and  she  didn't  want  to,  but  she  used  to 
come  down  and  watch  me  paint,  and  the 
skipper  didn't  like  it,  because  he  was  paying 
her  passage  and  had  to  be  on  the  bridge 
occasionally." 

"  I  see.     That  must  have  been  cheerful.'* 

"  It  was  the  best  time  I  ever  had.  To  be- 
gin with,  we  didn't  know  whether  we  should 
go  up  or  go  down  any  minute  when  there  was 
a  sea  on ;  and  when  it  was  calm  it  was  para- 
dise ;  and  the  woman  used  to  mix  the  paints 
and  talk  broken  English,  and  the  skipper  used 
to  steal  down  every  few  minutes  to  the  lower 
deck,  because  he  said"  he  was  afraid  of  fire. 
So,  you  see,  we  could  never  tell  when  we 
might  be  caught,  and  I  had  a  splendid  notion 
to  work  out  in  only  three  keys  of  color," 


The  Light  that  Failed       145 

"  What  was  the  notion  ?  '^ 
**  Two  lines  in  Poe — 

"*  Neither  the  angels  in  Heaven  above  nor  the  demons 
down  under  the  sea, 
Can  ever  dissever  my  soul  from  the  soul  of  the  beauti 
ful  Annabel  Lee." 

It  came  out  of  the  sea — all  by  itself.  I  drew 
that  fight,  fought  out  in  green  water  over  the 
naked,  choking  soul,  and  the  woman  served 
as  the  model  for  the  devils  and  the  angels 
both — sea-devils  and  sea-angels,  and  the  soul 
half  drowned  between  them.  It  doesn't  sound 
much,  but  when  there  was  a  good  light  on  the 
lower  deck  it  looked  very  fine  and  creepy. 
It  was  seven  by  fourteen  feet,  all  done  in 
shifting  light  for  shifting  light." 

"  Did  the  woman  inspire  you  much  ?  "  said 
Torpenhow. 

"  She  and  the  sea  between  them — im- 
mensely. There  was  a  heap  of  bad  drawing 
in  that  picture.  I  remember  I  went  out  of  my 
way  to  foreshorten  for  sheer  delight  of  doing 
in,  and  I  foreshortened  damnably,  but  for  all 
that  it's  the  best  thing  I've  ever  done  ;  and 
now  I  suppose  the  ship's  broken  up  or  gone 
down.     Whew  !     What  a  time  that  was  !  " 

"  What  happened  after  all  ?  " 

"Itall  ended.  They  were  loading  her  with 
wool  when  I  left  the  ship,  but  even  the  steve- 
dores kept  the  picture  clear  to  the  last.  The 
eyes  of  the  demons  scared  them,  I  honestly 
believe." 

"  And  the  woman  ?  " 
10 


146       The  Light  that  Failed 

*'  She  was  scared  too  when  it  was  finished. 
She  used  to  cross  herself  before  she  went 
down  to  look  at  it.  Just  three  colors  and  no 
chance  of  getting  any  more,  and  the  sea  out- 
side and  unlimited  love-making  inside,  and 
the  fear  of  death  atop  of  everything  else,  O 
Lord  !  "  He  had  ceased  to  look  at  the  sketch, 
but  was  staring  straight  in  front  of  him  across 
the  room. 

**Why  don't  you  try  something  of  the  same 
kind  now  ?  "  said  the  Nilghai. 

"  Because  those  things  come  not  by  fasting 
and  prayer.  When  I  find  a  cargo-boat  and  a 
Jewess-Cuban  and  another  notion  and  the 
same  old  life,  I  may." 

"  You  won't  find  them  here,"  said  the 
Nilghai. 

"  No,  I  shall  not."  Dick  shut  the  sketch- 
book with  a  bang.  "  This  room's  as  hot  as 
an  oven.      Open  the  window,  some  one." 

He  leaned  into  the  darkness,  watching  the 
greater  darkness  of  London  below  him.  The 
chambers  stood  much  higher  than  the  other 
houses,  commanding  a  hundred  chimneys — 
crooked  cowls  that  looked  like  sitting  cats  as 
they  swung  round,  and  other  uncouth  brick 
and  zinc  mysteries  supported  by  iron  stan- 
chions and  clamped  by  S-pieces.  North- 
ward the  lights  of  Piccadilly  Circus  and 
Leicester  Square  threw  a  copper-colored  glare 
above  the  black  roofs,  and  southward  lay  all 
the  orderly  lights  of  the  Thames.  A  train 
rolled  out  across  one   of  the  railway  bridges, 


The  Light  that  Failed       147 

and  its  thunder  drowned  for  a  minute  the  dull 
roar  of  the  streets.  The  Nilghai  looked  at 
his  watch  and  said  shortly,  "That's  the  Paris 
night-mail.  You  can  book  from  here  to  St. 
Petersburg  if  you  choose." 

Dick  crammed  head  and  shoulders  out  of 
the  window  and  looked  across  the  river.  Tor- 
penhow  came  to  his  side,  while  the  Nilghai 
passed  over  quietly  to  the  piano  and  opened 
it.  Binkie,  making  himself  as  large  as  pos- 
sible, spread  out  upon  the  sofa  with  the  air  of 
one  who  is  not  to  be  lightly  disturbed. 

"Well,"  said  the  Nilghai  to  the  two  pairs 
of  shoulders,  "  have  you  never  seen  this  place 
before  ?  " 

A  steam-tug  on  the  river  hooted  as  she 
towed  her  barges  to  wharf.  Then  the  boom 
of  the  traffic  came  into  the  room.  Torpen- 
how  nudged  Dick.  "  Good  place  to  bank  in 
— bad  place  to  bunk  in,  Dickie,  isn't  it .''  " 

Dick's  chin  was  in  his  hand  as  he  answered, 
in  the  words  of  a  general  not  without  fame, 
still  looking  out  on  the  darkness — "  '  My  God, 
what  a  city  to  loot ! '  " 

Binkie    found   the    night    air    tickling    his 
whiskers  and  sneezed  plaintively. 

"  We  shall  give  the  Binkie-dog  a  cold,"  said 
Torpenhow.  "  Come  in,"  and  they  withdrew 
their  heads.  "You'll  be  buried  in  Kensal 
Green,  Dick,  one  of  these  days,  if  it  isn't  closed 
by  the  time  you  want  to  go  there — buried 
within  two  feet  of  some  one  else,  his  wife  and 
his  family. " 


148       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  Allah  forbid !  I  shall  get  away  before 
that  time  comes.  Give  a  man  room  to  stretch 
his  legs,  Mr.  Binkie."  Dick  flung  himself 
down  on  the  sofa  and  tweaked  Binkie's  velvet 
ears,  yawning  heavily  the  while. 

''You'll  find  that  wardrobe-case  very  much 
out  of  tune,"  Torpenhow  said  to  the  Nilghai. 
"'  It's  never  touched  except  by  you." 

"A  piece  of  gross  extravagance,"  Dick 
grunted.  *'  The  Nilghai  only  comes  when  I'm 
out." 

"  That's  because  you're  always  out.  Howl, 
Nilghai,  and  let  him  hear." 

"  The  life  of  the  Nilghai  is  fraud  and  slaughter> 
His  writings  are  watered  Dickens  and  water; 
But  the  voice  of  the  Nilghai  raised  on  high 
Makes  even  the  Mahdieh  glad  to  die  1  " 

Dick  quoted  from  Torpenhow's  letter-press 
in  the  Nungapunga  Book.  *'  How  do  they 
call  moose  in  Canada,  Nilghai.?"' 

The  man  laughed.  Singing  w^as  his  one 
polite  accomplishment,  as  many  Press-tents 
in  far-off  lands  had  known. 

**What  shall  I  sing.?"  said  he,  turning  in 
the  chair. 

"  *  Moll  Roe  in  the  Morning,'  "  said  Tor- 
penhow, at  a  venture. 

^*  No,"  said  Dick,  sharply,  and  the  Nilghai 
opened  his  eyes.  The  old  chanty  whereof  he, 
among  a  very  few,  possessed  all  the  words 
was  not  a  pretty  one,  but  Dick  had  heard  it 
many  times  before    without   wincing.      With- 


The  Light  that  Failed  '     149 

out  prelude  he  launched  into  that  stately 
tune  that  calls  together  and  troubles  the 
hearts  of  the  gipsies  of  the  sea — - 

*'  Farewell  and  adieu  to  you,  Spanish  ladies, 
Farewell  and  adieu  to  you,  ladies  of  Spain," 

Dick  turned  uneasily  on  the  sofa,  for  he 
could  hear  the  bows  of  the  Barra/o?ig  crash- 
ing into  the  green  seas  on  her  way  to  the 
Southern  Cross.     Then  came  the  chorus — 

"  We'll  rant  and  we'll  roar  like  true  British  sailors. 
We'll  rant  and  we'll  roar  across  the  salt  seas, 
Until  we  take  sounding  in  the  Channel  of  Old  England 
From  Ushant  to  Scilly  'tis  forty-five  leagues." 

"  Thirty-five — thirty-five,"  said  Dick,  petu- 
lantly. "  Don't  tamper  with  Holy  Writ.  Go 
on,  Nilghai." 

"  The  first  land  we  made  it  was  called  the  Deadman,'* 

and  they  sang  to  the  end  very  vigorously, 

''  That  would  be  a  better  song  if  her  head 
were  turned  the  other  way — to  the  Ushant 
light,  for  instance,"  said  the  Nilghai. 

'•  Flinging  its  arms  about  like  a  mad  wind- 
mill," said  Torpenhow.  "Give  us  something 
else,  Nilghai.  You're  in  fine  fog-horn  form 
to-night." 

"Give  us  the  '  Ganges  Pilot':  you  sang 
that  in  the  square  the  night  before  El-Magh- 
rib. By  the  way,  I  wonder  how  many  of  the 
chorus  are  alive  to-night,"  said  Dick. 


ISO    *   The  Light  that  Failed 

Torpenhow  considered  for  a  minute.  "  By 
Jove  !  I  believe  only  you  and  I.  Raynor, 
Vickery  and  Deenes — all  dead ;  Vincent 
caught  smallpox  in  Cairo,  carried  it  here  and 
died  of  it.  Yes,  only  you  and  I  and  the 
Nilghai." 

'*  Umph  !  And  yet  the  men  here  who've 
done  their  work  in  a  well-warmed  studio  all 
their  lives,  with  a  policeman  at  each  corner,  say 
that  1  charge  too  much  for  my  pictures." 

"  They  are  buying  your  work,  not  your  in- 
surance policies,  dear  child,"  said  the  Nilghai. 

"  I  gambled  with  one  to  get  at  the  other. 
Don't  preach.  Go  on  with  the  '  Pilot.' 
Where  in  the  world  did  you  get  that  song  ?  " 

"  On  a  tombstone,"  said  the  Nilghai.  "  On 
a  tombstone  in  a  distant  land.  I  made  it  an 
accompaniment  with  heaps  of  bass  chords." 

"  Oh,  Vanity  !  Begin."  And  the  Nilghai 
began — 

"  I    have   slipped  my  cable,   messmates,   I'm    drifting 

down  with  the  tide, 
I  have  my  sailing  orders,  while  ye  at  anchor  ride. 
And  never  on  fair  June  morning  have  I  put  out  to  sea 
With  clearer  conscience  or  better  hope,  or  a  heart 

more  light  and  free. 

"  Shoulder  to    shoulder,  Joe,  my   boy,  into    the  crowd 

like  a  wedge 
Strike  with  the  hangers,  messmates,  but  do  not  cut 

with  the  edge. 
Cries    Charnock,  '  Scatter    the   fagots,    double    that 

Brahmin  in  two. 
The  tall  pale  widow  for  me,  Joe,  the  little  brown  girl 

for  you  ! ' 


The  Light  that  Failed       151 

**  Young  Joe  (you're  nearing  sixty),  why  is  your  hide  so 
dark  ? 
Katie  has  soft  fair  blue  eyes,  who  blackened  yours  ?— 
Why,  hark  ? " 

They  were  all  singing  now,  Dick  with  the 
roar  of  the  wind  of  the  open  sea  about  his  ears 
as  the  deep  bass  voice  let  itself  go. 

*' The  morning  gun — Ho,  steady! — the  arquebuses  to 
me  ! 
I  ha'  sounded  the  Dutch  High  Admiral's  heart  as  my 
lead  doth  sound  the  sea. 

"  Sounding,  sounding  the  Ganges,  floating  down  with 

the  tide. 
Moor  me  close  to  Charnock,  next  to  my  nut-brown 

bride. 
My  blessing  to  Kate  at  Fairlight — Holwell,  my  thanks 

to  you  ; 
Steady !     We  steer   from  Heaven,  through  sand-drifts 

cold  and  blue." 

"Now  what  is  there  in  that  nonsense  to 
make  a  man  restless  ?  '*  said  Dick,  hauling 
Binkie  from  his  feet  to  his  chest. 

"  It  depends  on  the  man,"  said  Torpenhow. 

"  The  man  who  has  been  down  to  look  at 
the  sea,"  said  the  Nilghai. 

"  I  didn't  know  she  was  going  to  upset  me 
in  this  fashion." 

"  That's  what  men  say  when  they  go  to  say 
good-by  to  a  woman.  It's  more  easy  though 
to  get  rid  of  three  women  than  a  piece  of  one's 
life  and  surroundings." 

*'  But  a  woman  can  be "  began  Dick,  un- 
guardedly. 


£52       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  A  piece  of  one's  life,"  continued  Torpen- 
how.  *'  No,  she  can't."  His  face  darkened 
for  a  moment.  "  She  says  she  wants  to  sym- 
pathize with  you  and  help  you  in  your  work, 
and  everything  else  that  clearly  a  man  must 
do  for  himself.  Then  she  sends  round  five 
notes  a  day  to  ask  why  the  dickens  you 
haven't  been  wasting  your  time  with  her." 

*'  Don't  generalize,"  said  the  Nilghai.  "  By 
the  time  you  arrive  at  five  notes  a  day  you 
must  have  gone  through  a  good  deal  and  be- 
haved accordingly,  'Shouldn't  begin  these 
things,  my  son." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  gone  down  to  the  sea," 
said  Dick,  just  a  little  anxious  to  change  the 
conversation.  "  And  you  shouldn't  have 
sung." 

"The  sea  isn't  sending  you  five  notes  a 
da}',"  said  the  Nilghai. 

*'  No,  but  I'm  fatally  compromised.  She's 
an  enduring  old  hag,  and  I'm  sorry  I  ever  met 
her.  Why  wasn't  I  born  and  bred  and  dead 
in  a  three-pair  back  ? " 

"  Hear  him  blaspheming  his  first  love  I 
Why  in  the  world  shouldn't  you  listen  to  her  ?  " 
said  Torpenhow. 

Before  Dick  could  reply  the  Nilghai  lifted 
up  his  voice  with  a  shout  that  shook  the 
windows,  in  "The  Men  of  the  Sea,"  that  be- 
gins, as  all  know,  *'  The  sea  is  a  wicked  old 
woman,"  and  after  racing  through  eight  lines 
whose  imagery  is  truthful,  ends  in  a  refrain, 
slow  as  the  clacking  of   a  capstan  when   the 


The  U^ht  that  Failed       153 

boat  comes  unwillingl}-  up  to  the   bars  where 
the  men  sweat  and  tramp  in  the  shingle. 

***  Ye  that  bore  us,  O  restore  us  ! 
She  is  kinder  than  ye  ; 
For  the  call  is  on  our  heart-strings !  * 
Said  The  Men  of  the  Sea." 

The  Nilghai  sang  that  verse  twice,  with 
simple  craft,  intending  that  Dick  should  hear. 
But  Dick  was  waiting  for  the  farewell  of  the 
men  to  their  wives. 

** '  Ye  that  love  us,  can  ye  move  us  ? 
She  is  dearer  than  ye  ; 
And  your  sleep  will  be  the  sweeter," 
Said  The  Men' of  the  Sea." 

The  rough  words  beat  like  the  blows  of  the 
waves  on  the  bows  of  the  rickety  boat  from 
Lima  in  the  days  when  Dick  was  mixing  paints, 
making  love,  drawing  devils  and  angels  in  the 
half  dark,  and  wondering  whether  the  next 
minute  would  place  the  Italian  captain's  knife 
between  his  shoulder-blades.  And  the  go- 
fever,  which  is  more  real  than  many  doctors' 
diseases,  \vaked  and  raged,  urging  him  who 
loved  Maisie  beyond  anything  in  the  world,  to 
go  away  and  taste  the  old  hot,  unregenerate 
Hfe  again, — to  scuffle,  swear,  gamble,  and 
love  light  loves  with  his  fellows ;  to  take  ship 
and  know  the  sea  once  more,  and  by  her  beget 
pictures;  to  talk  to  Binat  among  the  sands 
of  Port  Said  while  Yellow  'Tina  mixed  the 
drinks  ;  to  hear  the  crackle  of  musketry,  and 
see  the  smoke  roll  outward,  thin  and   thicken 


154       The  Light  that  Failed 

again  till  the  shining  black  faces  came  through, 
and  in  that  hell  every  man  was  strictly  re- 
sponsible for  his  own  head,  and  his  own  alone, 
and  struck  with  an  unfettered  arm.  It  was 
impossible,  utterly  impossible,  but — 

*'  *  Oh,  our  fathers,  in  the  churchyard 
She  is  older  than  ye, 
And  our  graves  will  be  the  greener,' 
Said  The  Men  of  the  Sea." 

"  What /i"  there  to  hinder?"  said  Torpen- 
how,  in  the  long  hush  that  followed  the  song. 

"  You  said  a  little  time  since  that  you 
wouldn't  come  for  a  walk  round  the  world, 
Torp." 

"  That  was  months  ag-o,  and  I  only  objected 
to  your  making  money  for  traveling  expenses. 
You've  shot  your  bolt  here  and  it  has  gone 
home.  Go  away  and  do  some  work,  and  see 
some  things." 

"  Get  some  of  the  fat  off  you  ;  you're  dis- 
gracefully out  of  condition,"  said  the  Nilghai, 
making  a  plunge  for  the  chair  and  grasping  a 
handful  of  Dick  generally  over  the  right  ribs. 
"  Soft  as  putty — pure  tallow  born  of  over- 
feeding.     Train  it  off,  Dickie." 

"We're  all  equally  gross,  Nilghai.  Next 
time  you  have  to  take  the  field  you'll  sit  down, 
wink  your  eyes,  gasp,  and  die  in  a  fit." 

"  Never  mind.  You  go  away  on  a  ship. 
Go  to  Lima  again,  or  to  Brazil.  There's  al- 
ways trouble  in  South  America." 

'*  Do  you  suppose  I  want  to  be   told  where 


The  Light  that  Failed       155 

go?  Great  Heavens,  the  only  difficulty  is 
know  where  I'm  to  stop.  But  I  shall  stay 
:re,  as  I  told  you  before." 
"  Then  you'll  be  buried  in  Kensal  Green  and 
rn  into  adipocere  with  the  others,"'  said  Tor- 
nhow.  "Are  you  thinking  of  commissions 
hand?  Pay  forfeit  and  go.  You've  money 
ongh  to  travel  as  a  king  if  you  please." 
"  You've  the  grisliest  notions  of  amusement, 
Drp.  I  think  I  see  myself  shipping  first  class 
I  a  six-thousand-ton  hotel,  and  asking  the 
ird  engineer  what  makes  the  engines  go 
und,  and  whether  it  isn't  very  warm  in  the 
Dkehold.  Ho  !  ho  !  I  should  ship  as  a  loafer 
ever  I  shipped  at  all,  which  I'm  not  going 
do.  I  shall  compromise,  and  go  for  a  small 
p  to  begin  with." 

"  That's  something  at  any  rate.     Where  will 
u  go  ?  "  said  Torpenhow.     "  It   would  do 
u  all  the  good  in  the  world,  old  man." 
The  Nilghai  saw  the  twinkle  in  Dick's  eye 
id  refrained  from  speech. 
"  I  shall   go  in   the  first  place   to  Rathray's 
ible,  where  I  shall  hire  one  horse,  and  take 
m  very  carefully  as  far  as  Richmond  Hill, 
len  I  shall  walk  him  back  again,  in  case  he 
ould    accidentally   burst  into  a  hither  and 
ake    Rathray   angry.     I    shall    do    that    to- 
orrow,  for  the  sake  of  air  and  exercise." 
"  Bah  !  "     Dick  had  barely  time  to  throw  up 
s  arm  and  ward  off  the  cushion  that  the  dis- 
isted  Torpenhow  heaved  at  his  head. 
"  Air  and  exercise  indeed,"  said  the  Nilghai, 


iS6       The  Light  that  Failed 

Sitting  down  heavily  on  Dick.  "  Let's  give 
him  a  little  of  both.     Get  the  bellows,  Torp." 

At  this  point  the  conference  broke  up  in 
disorder,  because  Dick  would  not  open  his 
mouth  till  the  Nilghai  held  his  nose  fast,  and 
there  w^as  some  trouble  in  forcing  the  nozzle 
of  the  bellows  between  his  teeth  ;  and  even 
when  it  was  there  he  weakly  tried  to  puff 
against  the  force  of  the  blast,  and  his  cheeks 
blew  up  with  a  great  explosion  ;  and  the  enemy 
becoming  helpless  with  laughter  he  so  beat 
them  over  the  head  with  a  soft  sofa-cushion  that 
that  became  unsewn  and  distributed  its  feath- 
ers, and  Binkie,  interfering  in  Torpenhow's  in- 
terests, was  bundled  into  the  half-empty  bag 
and  advised  to  scratch  his  way  out,  which  he 
did  after  a  while,  traveling  rapidly  up  and  down 
the  floor  in  the  shape  of  an  agitated  green  hag- 
gis, and  when  he  came  out  looking  for  satisfac- 
tion, the  three  pillars  of  his  world  were  picking 
feathers  out  of  their  hair. 

'•  A  prophet  has  no  honor  in  his  own  coun- 
try," said  Dick,  ruefully,  dusting  his  knees. 
"  This  filthy  fluff  will  never  brush  off  my  bags." 

*'  It  was  all  for  your  good,"  said  the  Nilghai. 
"^Nothing  like  air  and  exercise." 

"  All  for  your  good,"  said  Torpenhow,  not 
in  the  least  with  reference  to  past  clowning. 
"  It  would  let  you  focus  things  at  their  proper 
worth  and  prevent  your  becoming  slack  in  this 
hot-house  of  a  town.  Indeed  it  w^ould,  old  man, 
I  shouldn't  have  spoken  if  I  hadn't  thought  so. 
Only,  you  make  a  joke  of  everything." 


The  Light  that  Failed       157 

**  Before  God  I  do  no  such  thing/'  said  Dick, 
quickly  and  earnestly.  *'  You  don't  know  me 
if  you  think  that." 

"/don't  think  it,"  said  the  Nilghai. 

"  How  can  fellows  like  ourselves,  who  know 
what  life  and  death  really  mean,  dare  to  make 
a  joke  of  anything  ?  "  1  know  we  pretend  it,  to 
save  ourselves  from  breaking  down  or  going 
to  the  other  extreme.  Can't  I  see,  old  man, 
how  you're  always  anxious  about  me,  and  try 
to  advise  me  to  make  my  work  better?  Do 
you  suppose  I  don't  think  about  that  myself? 
But  you  can't  help  me — you  can't  help  me— 
not  even  you.  I  must  play  my  own  hand 
alone  in  my  own  way." 

"  Hear,  hear,"  from  the  Nilghai. 

*'  What's  the  one  thing  in  the  Nilghai  Saga 
that  I've  never  drawn  in  the  Nungapunga 
Book?"  Dick  continued  to  Torpenhow,  who 
was  a  little  astonished  at  the  outburst. 

Now  there  was  one  blank  page  in  the  book 
given  over  to  the  sketch  that  Dick  had  not 
drawn  of  the  crowning  exploit  in  the  Nilghai's 
life;  when  that  man,  being  young  and  forget- 
ting that  his  body  and  bones  belonged  to  the 
paper  that  employed  him,  had  ridden  over 
sunburned  slippery  grass  in  the  rear  of  Bre- 
dow's  brigade  on  the  day  that  the  troopers 
flung  themselves  at  Canrobert's  artillery,  and 
for  aught  thev  knew  twenty  battalions  in  front, 
to  save  the  battered  24th  German  Infantry,  to 
give  time  to  decide  the  fate  of  Vionville,  and 
to  learn  ere  their  remnant  came  back  to  Fla- 


158       The  Light  that  Failed 

vigay  that  cavalry  can  attack  and  crumple  and 
break  unshaken  infantry.  Whenever  he  was 
inclined  to  think  over  a  life  that  might  have 
been  better,  an  income  that  might  have  been 
larger,  and  a  soul  that  might  have  been  con- 
siderably cleaner,  the  Nilghai  would  comfort 
himself  with  the  thought,  "  I  rode  with  Bre- 
dow's  brigade  at  Vionville,"  and  take  heart 
for  any  lesser  battle  the  next  day  might  bring. 

'*  I  know%''  he  said,  very  gravely.  "  I  was 
always  glad  that  you  left  it  out." 

*'  I  left  it  out  because  Nilghai  taught  me 
what  the  German  army  learned  then,  and  what 
Schmidt  taught  their  cavalry.  I  don't  know 
German.  What  is  it  ?  '  Take  care  of  the 
time  and  the  dressing  will  take  care  of  itself.' 
I  must  ride  my  own  line  to  my  own  beat,  old 
man." 

"  Tempo  ist  7'ichtung.  You've  learned  your 
lesson  well,"  said  the  Nilghai.  "  He  must  go 
alone.     He  speaks  truth,  Torp." 

"  Maybe  I'm  as  wrong  as  I  can  be — hide- 
ously wrong.  I  must  find  that  out  for  my- 
self, as  I  have  to  think  things  out  for  myself, 
but  I  daren't  turn  my  head  to  dress  by  the 
next  man.  It  hurts  me  a  great  deal  more 
than  you  know  not  to  be  able  to  go,  but  I  can- 
not, that's  all.  I  must  do  my  own  work  and 
live  my  own  life  in  my  own  way,  because  I'm 
responsible  for  both.  Only  don't  think  I 
frivol  about  it,  Torp.  I  have  my  own  matches 
and  sulphur,  and  I'll  make  my  own  hell, 
thanks." 


The  Light  that  Failed       159 

There  was  an  uncomfortable  pause.  Then 
Torpenhow  said  blandly,  "  What  did  the  Gov- 
ernor of  North  Carolina  say  to  the  Governor 
of  South  Carolina  ?  " 

"  Excellent  notion.  It  is  a  long  time  be- 
tween drinks.  There  are  the  makings  of  a 
very  fine  prig  in  you,  Dick,"  said  the  Nilghai. 

"  I've  liberated  my  mind,  estimable  Binkie, 
with  the  feathers  in  his  mouth."  Dick  picked 
up  the  still  indignant  one  and  shook  him  ten- 
derly. "You're  tied  up  in  a  sack  and  made 
to  run  about  blind,  Binkie-wee,  without  any 
reason,  and  it  has  hurt  your  little  feelings. 
Never  mind.  Sic  volo,  sic  jubeo,  stet  pro  rati- 
one  voluntas,  and  don't  sneeze  in  my  eye  be- 
cause 1  talk  Latin.     Good-night." 

He  went  out  of  the  room. 

'*  That's  distinctly  one  for  you,"  said  the 
Nilghai.  "  I  told  you  it  was  hopeless  to 
meddle  with  him.      He's  not  pleased." 

"  He'd  swear  at  me  if  he  weren't.  I  can't 
make  it  out.  He  has  the  go-fever  upon  him 
and  he  won't  go.  1  only  hope  that  he  mayn't 
have  to  go   some  day  when   he   doesn't  want 

to,"  said  Torpenhow. 

*  #  *  #  * 

In  his  own  room  Dick  was  settling  a  ques- 
tion with  himself — and  the  question  was 
whether  all  the  world,  and  all  that  was  therein, 
and  a  burning  desire  to  exploit  both,  was 
worth  one  three-penny  piece  thrown  into  the 
Thames. 

"  It  came  of  seeing  the  sea,  and  I'm   a  cur 


x6o       The  Light  that  Failed 

to  think  about  it,"  he  decided.  "  After  all 
the  honeymoon  will  be  that  tour — with  reser- 
vations ;  only  .  .  .  only  i  didn't  realize  that 
the  sea  was  so  strong.  I  didn't  feel  it  so 
much  when  I  was  with  Maisie.  These  dam- 
nable songs  did  it.     He's  beginning  again." 

But  it  was  only  Herrick's  Nightpiece  to 
Julia  that  the  Nilghai  sang,  and  before  it  was 
ended  Dick  reappeared  on  the  threshold,  not 
altogether  clothed  indeed,  but  in  his  right 
mind,  thirsty  and  at  peace. 

The  mood  had  come  and  gone  with  the 
rising  and  the  falling  of  the  tide  by  Fort 
Keeling. 


The  Light  that  Failed       i6i 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"*  If  I  have  taken  the  common  clay 

And  wrought  it  cunningly 
In  the  shape  of  a  god  that  was  digged  a  clod, 

The  greater  honor  to  me." 

"*  If  thou  hast  taken  the  common  clay, 

And  thy  hands  be  not  free 
From  the  taint  of  the  soil,  thou  hast  made  thy  spoil 

The  greater  shame  to  thee." 

—  T/ie  Two  Potters, 

He  did  no  work  of  any  kind  for  the  rest  of 
the  week.  Then  came  another  Sunday.  He 
dreaded  and  longed  for  the  day  always,  but 
since  the  red-haired  girl  had  sketched  him 
there  was  rather  more  dread  than  desire  iii 
his  mind. 

He  found  that  Maisie  had  entirely  neglected 
his  suggestions  about  line-work.  She  had 
gone  off  at  score  filled  with  some  absurd 
notion  for  a  "fancy  head."  It  cost  Dick 
something  to  command  his  temper. 

"  What's  the  good  of  suggesting  anything  ?  ^' 
he  said,  pointedly. 

"  Ah,  but  this  will  be  a  picture, — a  real 
picture ;  and  I  know  that  Kami  will  let  me 
send  it  to  the  Salon.  You  don't  mind,  do 
you  .?  " 

'  I  suppose  not.     But  you  won't  have  time 
for  the  Salon." 
II 


i62       The  Light  that  Failed 

Maisie  hesitated  a  little.  She  even  felt 
uncomfortable. 

"  We're  going  over  to  France  a  month 
sooner  because  of  it.  I  shall  get  the  idea 
sketched  out  here  and  work  it  up  at  Ka- 
mi's. " 

Dick's  heart  stood  still,  and  he  came  very 
near  to  being  disgusted  with  his  queen  who 
could  do  no  wrong.  "  Just  when  I  thought 
I  had  made  some  headway,  she  goes  off  chas- 
ing butterflies.     It's  too  maddening  1  " 

There  was  no  possibility  of  arguing,  for  the 
red-haired  girl  was  in  the  studio.  Dick  could 
■only  look  unutterable  reproach. 

*'  I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  ''  and  I  think  you 
make  a  mistake.  But  what's  the  idea  of  your 
new  picture  ? " 

"  1  took  it  from  a  book." 

"  That's  bad,  to  begin  with.  Books  aren't 
the  places  for  pictures.     And " 

"  It's  this,"  said  the  red-haired  girl  behind 
him.  "I  was  reading  it  to  Maisie  the  other 
day  from  T/ie  City  of  Dreadful  Night,  D'you 
know  the  book  ?  " 

"  A  little.  I  am  sorry  I  spoke.  There 
are  pictures  in  it.  \^'hat  has  taken  her 
fancy  ?  " 

"  The  description  of  the  Melancolia — 

**  Her  folded  wings  as  of  a  mighty  eagle. 
But  all  too  impotent  to  lift  the  regal 
Robustness  of  her  earth-born  strength  and  pride. 

And  here  again.      (Maisie,  get  the  tea.  f^ar.) 


The  Light  that  Failed       163 

•*The    forehead   charged  with    baleful    thoughts   and 
dreams, 
The  household  bunch  of  keys,  the  housewife's  gown. 
Voluminous  indented,  and  yet  rigid 
As  though  a  shell  of  burnished  metal  frigid. 
Her  feet  thick-shod  to  tread  all  weakness  down." 

There  was  no  attempt  to  conceal  the  scorn 
of  the  lazy  voice.      Dick  winced. 

"  But  that  has  been  done  already  by  an 
obscure  artist  of  the  name  of  Diirer,"  said  he. 
"  Hew  does  the  poem  run  ? — 

"  Three  centuries  and  threescore  years  ago. 
With  phantasies  of  his  peculiar  thought. 

You  might  as  well  try  to  rewrite  Hamlet.  It 
will  be  waste  of  time." 

"  No,  it  won't,"  said  Maisie,  putting  down 
the  teacup  with  clatter  to  reassure  herself. 
*'  And  I  mean  to  do  it.  Can't  you  see  what 
a  beautiful  thing  it  would  make  .''  " 

"  How  in  perdition  can  one  do  work  when 
one  hasn't  had  the  proper  training.?  Any 
fool  can  get  a  notion.  It  needs  training  to 
drive  the  thing  through, — training  and  con- 
viction ;  not  rushing  after  the  first  fancy." 
Dick  spoke  between  his  teeth. 

"  You  don't  understand,"  said  Maisie.  '*  I 
think  I  can  do  it." 

Again  the  voice  of   the  girl  behind  him — 

'■  Baffled  and  beaten  back,  she  works  on  still ; 

Weary  and  sick  of  soul,  she  works  the  more. 
Sustained  by  her  indomitable  will. 

The  hands  shall  fashion,  and  the  brain  shall  pore, 
And  all  her  sorrow  shall  be  turned  to  labor — 


1 64       The  Light  that  Failed 

I  fancy  Maisie  means  to  embody  herself  in 
the  picture." 

•'  Sitting  on  a  throne  of  rejected  pictures  ? 
No,  I  shan't,  dear.  The  notion  in  itself  has 
fascinated  me. — Of  course  you  don't  care  for 
fancy  heads,  Dick.  I  don't  think  you  could 
do  them.      You  like  blood  and  bones. " 

"  That's  a  direct  challenge.  If  you  can  do 
a  IMelancolia  that  isn't  merely  a  sorrowful 
female  head,  I  can  do  a  better  one;  and  I 
will,  too.  What  d'you  know  about  Melan- 
colias  ?  "  Dick  firmly  believed  that  he  was 
even  then  tasting  three-quarters  of  all  the 
sorrow  in  the  world. 

"  She  w-as  a  woman,"  said  Maisie,  "  and 
she  suffered  a  great  deal, — till  she  could  suffer 
no  more.  Then  she  began  to  laugh  at  it  all, 
and  then  I  painted  her  and  sent  her  to  the 
Salon." 

The  red-haired  girl  rose  up  and  left  the 
room,  laughing. 

Dick  looked  at  Maisie  humbly  and  hope- 
lessly. 

"'  Never  mind  about  the  picture,"  he  said. 
* '  Are  you  really  going  back  to  Kami's  a  month 
before  your  time  }  " 

"  I  must,  if  I  want  to  get  the  picture  done." 

"  And  that's  all  you  want  ?  " 

"Of  course.     Don't  be  stupid,  Dick." 

"  You  haven't  the  power.  You  have  only 
the  ideas — the  ideas  and  the  little  cheap  im- 
pulses. How  you  could  have  kept  at  your 
work  for  ten  years  steadily  is  a  mystery  to  me. 


The  Light  that  Failed       165 

So  you  are  really  going, — a  month  before  you 
need?  " 

*'  I  must  do  my  work." 

"  Your  work — bah  I  .  .  .  No,  I  didn't  mean 
that.  It's  all  right,  dear.  Of  course  you 
must  doyour  work,  and — I  think  I'll  saygood- 
by  for  this  week." 

"  Won't  you  even  stay  for  tea  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you.  Have  I  your  leave  to  go, 
dear?  There's  nothing  more  you  particularly 
want  me  to  do,  and  the  line-work  doesn't 
matter." 

"  I  wish  you  could  stay,  and  then  we  could 
talk  over  my  picture.  If  only  one  single 
picture's  a  success  it  draws  attention  to  all 
the  others.  I  know  some  of  my  work  is  good, 
if  only  people  could  see.  And  you  needn't 
have  been  so  rude  about  it." 

"  I'm  sorry.  We'll  talk  the  Melancolia 
over  some  one  of  the  other  Sundays.  There 
are  four  more — yes,  one,  two,  three,  four — be- 
fore you  go.     Good-by,  Maisie." 

Maisie  stood  by  the  studio  window,  think- 
ing, till  the  red-haired  girl  returned,  a  little 
white  at  the  corners  of  her  lips. 

"Dick's  gone  off,"  said  Maisie.  "Just 
when  I  wanted  to  talk  about  the  picture.  Isn't 
it  selfish  of  him  ? "' 

Her  companion  opened  her  lips  as  if  to 
speak,  shut  them  again,  and  went  on  reading 
The  City  of  D7-eadful  Alglit. 

Dick  was  in  the  Park,  walking  round  and 
round  a  tree  that  he  had  chosen  as  his  con- 


i66       The  Light  that  Failed 

fidante  for  many  Sundays  past.  He  was 
swearing  audibly,  and  when  he  found  that  the 
infirmities  of  the  English  tongue  hemmed  in 
his  rage,  he  sought  consolation  in  Arabic, 
which  is  expressly  designed  for  the  use  of  the 
afflicted.  He  was  not  pleased  with  the  re- 
ward of  his  patient  servdce  ;  nor  was  he  pleased 
with  himself ;  and  it  was  long  before  he  ar- 
rived at  the  proposition  that  the  queen  could 
do  no  wrong. 

"  It's  a  losing  game,"  he  said.  "  I'm  worth 
nothing  when  a  whim  of  hers  is  in  question. 
But  in  a  losing  game  at  Port  Said  we  used  to 
double  the  stakes  and  go  on.  She  do  a  Me- 
lancolia !  She  hasn't  the  power,  or  the 
insight,  or  the  training.  Only  the  desire. 
She's  cursed  with  the  curse  of  Reuben.  She 
won't  do  line-work,  because  it  means  real 
work  ;  and  yet  she's  stronger  than  I  am.  I'll 
make  her  understand  that  I  can  beat  her  on 
her  own  Melancolia.  Even  then  she  wouldn't 
care.  She  says  I  can  only  do  blood  and  bones. 
I  don't  believe  she  has  blood  m  her  veins. 
All  the  same  I  love  her;  and  1  must  go  on 
loving  her;  and  if  I  can  humble  her  inordi- 
nate vanity  I  will.  I'll  do  a  Melancolia  that 
shall  be  something  like  a  Melancolia, — *  the 
Melancolia  that  transcends  all  wit.'  I'll  do  it 
at  onc6,  con — bless  her." 

He  discovered  that  the  notion  would  not 
come  to  order,  and  that  he  could  not  free  his 
mind  for  an  hour  from  the  thought  of  Maisie's 
departure.     He  took    very  small   interest   in 


The  Light  that  Failed       167 

her  rough  studies  for  the  Melancolia  when  she 
showed  them  next  week.  The  Sundays  were 
racing  past,  and  the  time  was  at  hand 
when  all  the  church  bells  in  London  could 
not  ring  Maisie  back  to  him.  Once  or  twice 
he  said  something  to  Binkie  about  "  herma- 
phroditic futilities,"  but  the  little  dog  received 
so  many  confidences  both  from  Torpenhow 
and  Dick  that  he  did  not  trouble  his  tulip-ears 
to  listen. 

Dick  was  permitted  to  see  the  girls  off. 
They  were  going  by  the  Dover  night-boat ; 
and  they  hoped  to  return  in  August.  It  was 
then  February,  and  Dick  felt  that  he  was 
being  hardly  used.  Maisie  was  so  busy  strip- 
ping the  small  house  across  the  Park,  and 
packing  her  canvases,  that  she  had  no  time 
for  thought.  Dick  went  down  to  Dover  and 
wasted  a  day  there  fretting  over  a  wonderful 
possibility.  Would  Maisie  at  the  very  last 
allow  him  one  small  kiss  }  He  reflected  that 
he  might  capture  her  by  the  strong  arm,  as  he 
had  seen  women  captured  in  the  Southern 
Soudan,  and  lead  her  away  ;  but  Maisie  would 
never  be  led.  She  would  turn  her  gray  eyes 
upon  him  and  say,  "Dick,  how  selfish  you 
are  !  "  Then  his  courage  w^ould  fail  him.  It 
would  be  better,  after  all,  to  beg  for  that 
kiss. 

Maisie  looked  more  than  usually  kissable 
as  she  stepped  from  the  night-mail  on  to  the 
windy  pier,  in  a  gray  waterproof  and  a  little 
gray    cloth    traveling-cap.       The    red-haired 


1 68       The  Light  that  Failed 

girl  was  not  so  lovely.  Her  green  eyes  wete 
hollow  and  her  lips  were  dry.  Dick  saw  the 
trunks  aboard,  and  went  to  Maisie's  side  in 
the  darkness  under  the  bridge.  The  mail-bags 
were  thundering  into  the  forehold,  and  the 
red-haired  girl  was  watching  them. 

"You'll  have  a  rough  passage  to-night," 
said  Dick.  *'  It's  blowing  outside.  I  sup- 
pose I  may  come  over  and  see  you  if  I'm 
good  ? " 

''  You  mustn't.  I  shall  be  busy.  At  least, 
if  I  want  you  I'll  send  for  you.  But  I  shall 
write  from  Vitry-sur-Marne.  I  shall  have 
heaps  of  things  to  consult  you  about.  Oh, 
Dick,  you  have  been  so  good  to  me  ! — so 
good  to  me  !  " 

"  Thank  you  for  that,  dear.  It  hasn't  made 
any  difference,  has  it  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  a  fib.  It  hasn't — in  that  way. 
But  don't  think  I'm  not  grateful." 

"  Damn  the  gratitude  !  "  said  Dick;  huskily, 
to  the  paddle-box. 

"What's  the  use  of  worrying.?  You  know 
I  should  ruin  your  life,  and  you'd  ruin  mine, 
as  things  are  now\  You  remember  what  you 
said  when  you  were  so  angry  that  day  in  the 
Park  ?  One  of  us  has  to  be  broken.  Can't 
you  wait  till  that  day  comes  ?  " 

"  No,  love.  I  want  you  unbroken — all  to 
myself." 

Maisie  shook  her  head.  "  My  poor  Dick, 
what  can  I  say  ? " 

"  Don't   say  anything.     Give    me    a   kiss  ? 


The  Light  that  Failed       169 

Only  one  kiss,  Maisie.  I'll  swear  I  won't 
take  any  more.  You  might  as  well,  and  then 
I  can  be  sure  you're  grateful." 

Maisie  put  her  cheek  forward,  and  Dick 
took  his  reward  in  the  darkness.  It  was  only 
one  kiss,  but,  since  there  was  no  time-limit 
specified,  it  was  a  long  one.  Maisie  wrenched 
herself  free  angrily,  and  Dick  stood  abashed 
and  tingling  from  head  to  heel. 

"  Good-by,  darling.  I  didn't  mean  to  scare 
you.  I'm  sorry.  Only — keep  well  and  do 
good  work, — specially  the  Melancolia.  I'm 
going  to  do  one,  too.  Remember  me  to  Kami, 
and  be  careful  \vhat  you  drink.  Country 
drinking-water  is  bad  everywhere,  but  it's 
worse  in  France.  Write  to  me  if  you  want 
anything,  and  good-by.  Say  good-by  to  the 
what-you-call-um  girl,  and — can't  I  have 
another  kiss  ?  No.  You're  quite  right, 
Good-by. " 

A  shout  told  him  that  it  was  not  seemly  to 
charge  up  the  mail-bag  incline.  He  reached 
the  pier  as  the  steamer  began  to  move  off, 
and  he  followed  her  with  his  heart. 

"And  there's  nothing — nothing  in  the  wide 
world — to  keep  us  apart  except  her  obstinacy. 
These  Calais  night-boats  are  much  too  smalL 
I'll  get  Torp  to  write  to  the  papers  about  it. 
She's  beginning  to  pitch  already." 

Maisie  stood  where  Dick  had  left  her  till 
she  heard  a  little  gasping  cough  at  her  elbow, 
The  red-haired  girl's  eyes  were  alight  with 
cold  flame. 


170       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  He  kissed  you  !  "  she  said.  "  How  could 
you  let  him,  when  he  wasn't  anything  to  you? 
How  dared  you  take  a  kiss  from  him  !  Oh, 
Maisie,  let's  go  to  the  ladies'  cabin.  I'm 
sick,— deadly  sick." 

"  We  aren't  into  open  water  yet.  Go  down, 
dear,  and  I'll  stay  here.  I  don't  like  the 
smell  of  the  engines.  .  .  .  Poor  Dick  !  He 
deserved  one, — only  one.  But  I  didn't  think 
he'd  frighten  me  so." 

Dick  returned  to  town  next  day  just  in  time 
for  lunch,  for  which  he  had  telegraphed.  To 
his  disgust,  there  were  only  empty  plates  in 
the  studio.  He  lifted  up  his  voice  like  the 
bears  in  the  fairy-tale,  and  Torpenhow  en- 
tered, looking  very  guilty. 

"  H'sh  !  "  said  he.  "  Don't  make  such  a 
noise.  I  took  it.  Come  into  my  rooms,  and 
I'll  show  you  why." 

Dick  paused  amazed  at  the  threshold,  for 
on  Torpenhow's  sofa  lay  a  girl  asleep  and 
breathing  heavily.  The  little  cheap  sailor- 
hat,  the  blue-and-white  dress,  fitter  for  June 
than  for  February,  dabbled  with  mud  at  the 
skirts,  the  jacket  trimmed  with  imitation  As- 
trakhan and  ripped  at  the  slioulder-seams,  the 
one-and-elevenpenny  umbrella,  and,  above 
all,  the  disgraceful  condition  of  the  kid-topped 
boots,  declared  all  things. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  old  man,  this  is  too  bad  !  You 
mustn't  bring  this  sort  up  here.  They  steal 
things  from  the  rooms." 

"  It  looks   bad,  I  admit,  but  I  was  coming 


The  Light  that  Failed       171 

in  after  lunch,  and  she  staggered  into  the  hall. 
I  thought  she  was  drunk  at  first,  but  it  was 
collapse.  I  couldn't  leave  her  as  she  was,  so 
I  brought  her  up  here  and  gave  her  your  lunch. 
She  was  fainting  from  want  of  food.  She 
went  fast  asleep  the  minute  she  had  fin- 
ished." 

"  I  know  something  of  that  complaint.  She's 
been  living  on  sausages,  I  suppose.  Torp, 
you  should  have  handed  her  over  to  a  police- 
man for  presuming  to  faint  in  a  respectable 
house.  Poor  little  wretch  !  Look  at  that  face  ! 
There  isn't  an  ounce  of  immorality  in  it. 
Only  folly, — slack,  fatuous,  feeble,  futile 
folly.  It's  a  typical  head.  D'you  notice  how 
the  skull  begins  to  show  through  the  flesh 
padding  on  the  face  and  cheek-bone  ?" 

"What  a  cold-blooded  barbarian  it  is! 
Don't  hit  a  woman  when  she's  down.  Can't 
we  do  anything  ,''  She  was  simply  dropping 
with  starvation.  She  almost  fell  into  my 
arms,  and  when  she  got  to  the  food  she  ate 
like  a  wild  beast.     It  was  horrible." 

"  I  can  give  her  money,  which  she  would 
probably  spend  in  drinks.  Is  she  going  to 
sleep  forever  ? " 

The  girl  opened  her  eyes  and  glared  at  the 
men  between  terror  and  effrontery. 

"  Feeling  better  ?  "  said  Torpenhow. 

"  Yes.  Thank  you.  There  aren't  many 
gentlemen  that  are  as  kind  as  you  are.  Thank 
you." 

"  When  did  you  leave  service  ? "  said  Dick, 


172       The  Light  that  Failed 

who  had  been  watching  the  scarred  and 
chapped  hands. 

''  How  did  you  know  I  was  in  service  ?  I 
was.     General  servant.      I  didn't  like  it." 

"  And  how  do  you  like  being  your  own 
mistress  } " 

"Do  I  look  as  if  I  liked  it?" 

"  I  suppose  not.  One  moment.  Would 
you  be  good  enough  to  turn  your  face  to  the 
window  .''  " 

The  girl  obeyed,  and  Dick  watched  her  face 
keenly, — so  keenly  that  she  made  as  if  to  hide 
behind  Torpenhow. 

"  The  eyes  have  it,"  said  Dick,  walking  up 
and  down.  "  They  are  superb  eyes  for  my 
business.  And,  after  all,  every  head  depends 
on  the  eyes.  This  has  been  sent  from  heaven 
to  make  up  for — what  was  taken  awa3\  Now 
the  weekly  strain's  off  my  shoulders,  I  can  get 
to  work  in  earnest.  Evidently  sent  from 
heaven.  Yes.  Raise  your  chin  a  little 
please." 

"  Gently,  old  man,  gently.  You're  scaring 
somebody  out  of  her  wits,"  said  Torpenhow, 
who  could  see  the  girl  trembling. 

"  Don't  let  him  hit  me!  Oh,  please  don't 
let  him  hit  me !  I've  been  hit  cruel  to-day 
because  I  spoke  to  a  man.  Don't  let  him 
look  at  me  like  that !  He's  reg'lar  wicked, 
that  one.  Don't  let  him  look  at  me  like  that, 
neither  !  Oh,  I  feel  as  if  I  hadn't  nothing  on 
when  he  looks  at  me  like  that !  " 

The  overstrained  nerves  in  the  frail  body 


The  Light  that  Failed       T73 

gave  way,  and  the  girl  wept  like  a  little  child 
and  began  to  scream.  Dick  threw  open  the 
window,  and  Torpenhow  flung  the  door  back. 

"  There  you  are,"  said  Dick,  soothingly. 
"  My  friend  here  can  call  for  a  policeman,  and 
you  can  run  through  that  door.  Nobody  is 
going  to  hurt  you." 

The  girl  sobbed  convulsively  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  tried  to  laugh. 

"Nothing  in  the  world  to  hurt  you.  Now 
listen  to  me  for  a  minute.  I'm  what  they  call 
an  artist  by  profession.  You  know  what 
artists  do  ? " 

"  They  draw  the  things  in  red  and  black 
ink  on  the  pop-shop  labels." 

"  I  dare  say.  I  haven't  risen  to  pop-shop 
labels  yet.  Those  are  done  by  the  Academi- 
cians.    I  want  to  draw  your  head." 

"  What  for  .? "' 

"Because  it's  pretty.  That  is  why  you 
will  come  to  the  room  across  the  landing 
three  times  a  week  at  eleven  in  the  morning, 
and  I'll  give  you  three  quid  a  week  just  for 
sitting  still  and  being  drawn.  And  there's 
a  quid  on  account." 

"For  nothing?  Oh,  my  !  "  The  girl  turned 
the  sovereign  in  her  hand,  and  with  more 
foolish  tears  :  "  Ain't  neither  o'  you  two  gen- 
tlemen afraid  of  my  bilking  you  ^  " 

"No.  Only  ugly  girls  do  that.  Try  and 
remember  this  place.  And,  by  the  way, 
what's  your  name  ?" 

"I'm  Bessie, — Bessie —     It's  no  use  giving 


174       The  Light  that  Failed 

the  rest.  Bessie  Broke, — Stone-broke  if  you 
like.  What's  your  names  ?  But  there, — no 
one  ever  gives  the  real  ones." 

Dick  consulted  Torpenhow  with  his  eyes. 

"  My  name's  Heldar,  and  my  friend's  called 
Torpenhow  ;  and  you  must  be  sure  to  come 
here.     Where  do  you  live  .?  " 

"  South-the-water, — one  room, — five  and 
sixpence  a  week.  Aren't  you  making  fun  of 
me  about  that  three  quid  ?  " 

"You'll  see  later  on.  And,  Bessie,  next 
time  you  come,  remember,  you  needn't  wear 
that  paint.  It's  bad  for  the  skin,  and  I  have 
all  the  colors  you'll  be  likely  to  need." 

Bessie  withdrew,  scrubbing  her  cheek  with 
a  ragged  pocket-handkerchief.  The  two  men 
looked  at  each  other. 

"  You're  a  man,"  said  Torpenhow. 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  been  a  fool.  It  isn't  our 
business  to  run  about  the  earth  reforming 
Bessie  Brokes.  And  a  woman  of  any  kind 
has  no  right  on  this  landing." 

''  Perhaps  she  won't  come  back." 

"  She  will  if  she  thinks  she  can  get  food  and 
warmth  here.  I  know  she  will,  worse  luck. 
But  remember,  old  man,  she  isn't  a  wom?n  : 
she's  my  model ;  and  be  careful.'' 

"The  idea!  She's  a  dissolute  little  scare- 
crow,— a  gutter-snippet  and  nothing  more." 

"  So  you  think.  W^ait  till  she  has  been  fed 
a  little  and  freed  from  fear.  That  fair  type 
recovers  itself  very  quickly.  You  won't  know 
her  in  a  week  or  two,  when   that   abject   fear 


The  Light  that  Failed       175 

has  died  out  of  her  eyes.  She'll  be  too  happy 
and  smiling  for  my  purposes." 

"  But  surely  you're  taking  her  out  of 
charity  ?— to  please  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  playing  with  hot 
coals  to  please  anybody.  She  has  been  sent 
from  heaven,  as  I  may  have  remarked  before, 
to  help  me  with  my  Melancolia.'' 

' '  Never  heard  a  word  about  the  lady  before.*' 

"  What's  the  use  of  having  a  friend,  if  you 
must  sling  your  notions  at  him  in  w^ords  ? 
You  ought  to  know  what  I'm  thinking  about. 
You've  heard  me  grunt  lately  ?  " 

"  Even  so  ;  but  2;runts  mean  anvthing  in  your 
language,  from  bad  'baccy  to  wicked  dealers. 
And  I  don't  think  I've  been  much  in  your 
confidence  for  some  time." 

"  It  was  a  high  and  soulful  grunt.  You 
ought  to  have  understood  that  it  meant  the 
Melancolia."  Dick  walked  Torpenhow  up  and 
down  the  room,  keeping  silence.  Then  he 
smote  him  in  the  ribs.  "  Now  don't  you  see 
it  ?  "  Bessie's  abject  futility,  and  the  terror 
in  her  eyes,  welded  on  to  one  or  two  details 
in  the  way  of  sorrow  that  have  come  under  my 
experience  lately.  Likewise  some  orange  and 
black, — two  keys  of  each.  But  I  can't  ex- 
plain on  an  empty  stomach." 

"  It  sounds  mad  enough.  You'd  better  stick 
to  your  soldiers,  Dick,  instead  of  maundering 
about  heads  and  eyes  and  experiences." 

"  Think  so  ?  "  Dick  began  to  dance  on  his 
heels,  singing — 


176       The  Light  that  Failed 

**  They're  as  proud  as  a  turkey  when  they  hold  tha 

ready  cash, 
You  ought  to  'ear  the  way  they  laugh  an'  joke ; 
They  are  tricky  an'  they're  funny  when  they've  got 

the  ready  money, — 
Ow'  but  see  'em  when  they're  all  stone-broke." 

Then  he  sat  down  to  pour  out  his  h^art  to 
Maisie  in  a  four-sheet  letter  of  counsel  and 
encouragement,  and  registered  an  oath  that  he 
would  get  to  work  with  an  undivided  heart  as 
soon  as  Bessie  should  reappear. 

The  girl  kept  her  appointment  unpainted 
and  unadorned,  afraid  and  overbold  by  turns. 
When  she  found  that  she  was  merely  expected 
to  sit  still,  she  grew  calmer,  and  criticised 
the  appointments  of  the  studio  with  freedom 
and  some  point.  She  liked  the  w^armth  and 
the  comfort  and  the  release  from  fear  of  physi- 
cal pain.  Dick  made  two  or  three  studies  of 
her  head  in  monochrome,  but  the  actual  notion 
of  the  Melancolia  would  not  arrive. 

"  What  a  mess  you  keep  your  things  in  !  " 
said  Bessie,  some  days  later,  when  she  felt 
herself  thoroughly  at  home.  "  I  s'pose  your 
clothes  are  just  as  bad.  Gentlemen  never 
think  what  buttons  and  tape  are  made  for." 

*^  I  buy  things  to  wear,  and  wear  'em  till 
they  go  to  pieces.  I  don't  know  what  Torpen- 
how  does." 

Bessie  made  diligent  inquiry  in  the  latter's 
room,  and  unearthed  a  bale  of  disreputable 
socks.  "  Some  of  these  I'll  mend  now,"  she 
said,    "  and    some    I'll    take    home.       D'you 


The  Light  that  Failed        177 

know,  I  sit  all  clay  long  at  home  doing  noth- 
ing, just  like  a  lady,  and  no  more  noticing 
them  other  girls  in  the  house  than  if  they  was 
so  many  liies  ?  I  don't  have  any  unnecessary 
words,  I'Ut  I  put  *em  down  quick,  J  can  tell 
you,  when  they  talk  to  me.  No  ;  it's  quite 
nice  these  days.  I  lock  my  door,  and  they 
can  only  call  me  names  through  the  keyhole, 
and  I  sit  inside,  just  like  a  lady,  mendins; 
socks.  Mr.  Torpenhow  wears  his  socks  out 
both  ends  at  once." 

"  Three  quid  a  week  from  me,  and  the  de- 
lights of  my  society.  No  socks  mended. 
Nothing  from  Torp  except  a  nod  on  the  land- 
ing now  and  again,  and  all  his  socks  mended, 
Bessie  is  very  much  a  woman,"  thought  Dick; 
and  he  looked  at  her  between  half-shut  eyes. 
Food  and  rest  had  transformed  the  girl,  as 
Dick  knew  they  would. 

"What  are  you  looking  at  me  like  that 
for?"  she  said,  quickly.  "  Don't.  You  look 
reg'lar  bad  when  you  look  that  way.  You 
don't  think  much  o'  me,  do  you.?" 

"  That  depends  on  how  you  behave." 

Bessie  beheaved  beautifully.  Only  it  was 
difficult  at  the  end  of  a  sitting  to  bid  her  go  out 
intojthegray  streets.  She  very  much  preferred 
the  studio  and  a  big  chair  by  the  stove,  with 
some  socks  in  her  lap  as  an  excuse  for  delay. 
Then  Torpenhow  would  come  in,  and  Bessie 
would  be  moved  to  tell  strange  and  wonderful 
stories  of  her  past,  and  still  stranger  ones  of 
her  present  improved  circumstances.  She 
12 


178       The  Light  that  Failed 

would  make  them  tea  as  though  she  had  a 
right  to  make  it;  and  once  or  twice  on  these 
occasions  Dick  caught  Torpenhow's  eyes  fixed 
on  the  trim  little  figure,  and  because  Bessie's 
flittings  about  the  room  made  Dick  ardently 
long  for  Maisie,  he  realized  whither  Torpen- 
how's thoughts  were  tending.  And  Bessie 
was  exceedingly  careful  of  the  condition  of 
Torpenhow's  linen.  She  spoke  very  little  to 
him,  but  sometimes  they  talked  together  on 
the  landing. 

"  I  was  a  great  fool,"  Dick  said  to  himself. 
*'  I  know  what  red  firelight  looks  like  when 
a  man's  trampling  through  a  strange  town  ; 
and  ours  is  a  lonely,  selfish  sort  of  life  at  the 
best.  I  wonder  Maisie  doesn't  feel  that  some- 
times. But  I  can't  order  Bessie  away.  That's 
the  worst  of  beginning  things.  One  never 
knows  where  they  stop." 

One  evening,  after  a  sitting  prolonged  to 
the  last  limit  of  the  light,  Dick  was  roused 
from  a  nap  by  a  broken  voice  in  Torpenhow's 
room.  He  jumped  to  his  feet.  "Now  what 
ought  I  to  do?  It  looks  foolish  to  go  in. — 
Oh,  bless  you,  Binkie  ! "  The  little  terrier 
thrust  Torpenhow's  door  open  with  his  nose 
and  came  out  to  take  possession  of  Dick's  chair. 
The  door  swung  wide  unheeded,  and  Dick 
across  the  landing  could  see  Bessie  in  the  half- 
light  making  her  little  supplication  to  Torpen- 
how.  She  was  kneeling  by  his  side,  and 
her  hands  were  clasped  across  his  knee. 

"  I    know, — I    know,"    she    said,    thickly. 


The  Light  that  Failed       179 

"  'Tisn't  right  o'  me  to  do  this,  but  I  can't  help 
it ;  and  you  were  so  kind, — so  kind  ;  and  you 
never  took  any  notice  o'  me.  And  I've 
mended  all  your  things  so  carefully, — I  did. 
Oh,  please,  'tisn't  as  if  I  was  asking  you  to 
marry  me.  I  wouldn't  think  of  it.  But  cou 
— couldn't  you  take  and  live  with  me  till  Miss 
Right  comes  along?  I'm  only  Miss  Wrong, 
1  know,  but  Vd  work  my  hands  to  the  bare 
bone  for  you.  And  I'm  not  ugly  to  look  at. 
Say  you  will .'"' 

Dick  hardly  recognized  Torpenhow's  voice 
in  reply — 

"  But  look  here.  It's  no  use.  I'm  liable  to  be 
ordered  off  anywhere  at  a  minute's  notice  if  a 
war  breaks  out.    At  a  minute's  notice — dear." 

"What  does  that  matter?  Until  you  go, 
then.  Until  you  go.  'Tisn't  much  I'm  ask- 
ing, and — you  don't  know  how  good  I  can 
cook."  She  had  put  an  arm  round  his  neck 
and  was  drawing  his  head  down. 

"  Until — I—go,  then." 

"  Torp,"  said  Dick  across  the  landing. 
He  could  hardly  steady  his  voice.  "  Come 
here  a  minute,  old  man.  I'm  in  trouble." — 
"Heaven  send  he'll  listen  to  me  !"  There 
was  something  very  like  an  oath  from  Bessie's 
lips.  She  was  afraid  of  Dick,  and  disap- 
peared down  the  staircase  in  panic,  but  it 
seemed  an  age  before  Torpenhow  entered  the 
studio.  He  went  to  the  mantelpiece,  buried 
his  head  in  his  arms,  and  groaned  like  a 
wounded  bull. 


i8o       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  What  devil  right  have  you  to  interfere  ?  ** 
he  said,  at  last. 

"  Who's  interfering  with  which  ?  Your 
own  sense  told  you  long  ago  you  couldn't  be 
such  a  fool.  It  was  a  tough  rack,  St.  Anthony, 
but  you're  all  right  now." 

"  I  oughtn't  to  have  seen  her  moving  about 
these  rooms  as  if  they  belonged  to  her.  That's 
what  upset  me.  It  gives  a  lonely  man  a  sort 
of  hankering,  doesn't  it?  "  said  Torpenhow, 
piteously. 

"  Now  you  talk  sense.  It  does.  But, 
since  you  aren't  in  a  condition  to  discuss  the 
disadvantages  of  double  housekeeping,  do 
you    know  what  you're  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't.     I  wish  I  did." 

"  You're  going  away  for  a  season  on  a  bril- 
liant tour  to  regain  tone.  You're  going  to 
Brighton,  or  Scarborough,  or  Prawle  Point,  to 
see  the  ships  go  by.  And  you're  going  at 
once.  Isn't  it  odd?  I'll  take  care  of  Binkie^ 
but  out  you  go  immediately.  Never  resist  the 
devil.  He  holds  the  bank.  Fly  from  him. 
Pack  your  things  and  go." 

"  I  believe  you're  right.  Where  shall  I 
go?" 

"And  you  call  yourself  a  special  corre- 
spondent!    Pack  first  and  inquire  afterward. " 

An  hour  later  Torpenhow  was  despatched 
into  the  night  in  a  hansom.  "You'll  prob- 
ably think  of  some  place  to  go  to  while  you're 
moving,"  said  Dick.  "  Go  to  Euston,  to  be- 
gin with,  and — oh  yes — get  drunk  to-night." 


The  Light  that  Failed       i8i 

He  returned  to  the  studio,  and  lighted 
more  candles,  for  he  found  the  room  very 
dark. 

"  Oh,  you  Jezebel !  you  futile  little  Jeze^ 
bel !  Won't  you  hate  me  to-morrow  ? — Binkie, 
come  here." 

Binkie  turned  over  on  his  back  on  the 
hearthrug,  and  Dick  stirred  him  with  a  medi* 
tative  foot. 

"  I  said  she  was  not  immoral.  I  was 
wrong.  She  said  she  could  cook.  That 
showed  premeditated  sin.  Oh,  Binkie,  if  you 
are  a  man  you  will  go  to  perdition;  but  if  you 
are  a  woman,  and  say  that  you  can  cook,  you 
will  go  to  a  much  worse  place." 


1 82       The  Light  that  Failed 


CHAPTER  X- 

What's  you  that  follows  at  my  side  ?— 

The  foe  that  ye  must  fight,  my  lord,— 
That  hirple  swift  as  I  can  ride  ? — 

The  shadow  of  the  night,  my  lord. — 
Then  wheel  my  horse  against  the  foe  !— 

He's  down  and  overpast,  my  lord. 
Ye  war  against  the  sunset  glow : 

The  darkness  gathers  fast,  my  lord. 

— The  Fight  of  Her  i of  s  Ford. 

"This  is  a  cheerful  life,"  said  Dick,  some 
days  later.  "  Torp's  away;  Bessie  hates  me; 
I  can't  get  at  the  notion  of  the  Melancolia  ; 
Maisie's  letters  are  scrappy  ;  and  I  believe  I 
have  indigestion.  What  gives  a  man  pains 
across  his  head  and  spots  before  his  eyes, 
Binkie  ?     Shall  us  take  some  liver  pills  ?  " 

Dick  had  just  gone  through  a  lively  scene 
with  Bessie.  She  had  for  the  fiftieth  time  re- 
proached him  for  sending  Terpen  how  away. 
She  explained  her  enduring  hatred  for  Dick, 
and  made  it  clear  to  him  that  she  only  sat  for 
the  sake  of  his  money.  "  And  Mr.  Torpen- 
how's  ten  times  a  better  man  than  you,"  she 
concluded. 

*'He  is.  That's  why  he  went  away.  1 
should  have  stayed  and  made  love  to  you." 

The  girl  sat  with  her  chin  on  her  hand, 
scowling.     "  To  me  !     I'd  like  to   catch  you  ! 


The  Light  that  Failed      183 

If  I  wasn't  afraid  o'  being  hung  I'd  kill 
vou.  That's  what  I'd  do.  D'you  believe 
nie  ?  " 

Dick  smiled  wearily.  It  is  not  pleasant  to 
live  in  the  company  of  a  notion  that  will  not 
work  out,  a  fox  terrier  that  cannot  talk,  and 
a  woman  who  talks  too  much.  He  would  have 
answered,  but  at  that  moment  there  unrolled 
itself  from  one  corner  of  the  studio  a  veil,  as 
it  were,  of  the  filmiest  gauze.  Dick  rubbed 
his  eyes,  but  the  gray  haze  would  not  go. 

"  This  is  disgraceful  indigesiion.  Binkie, 
we  will  go  to  a  medicine  man.  We  can't  have 
our  eyes  interfered  with,  for  by  these  we 
get  our  bread  ;  also  mutton  bones  for  little 
dogs." 

He  was  an  affable  local  practitioner  with 
white  hair,  and  he  said  nothing  till  Dick  began 
to  describe  the  gray  film  in  the  studio. 

"  We  all  want  a  little  patching  and  repairing 
from  time  to  time,"  he  chirped.  "  Like  a  ship, 
my  dear  sir — exactly  like  a  ship.  Sometimes 
the  hull  is  out  of  order,  and  we  consult  the 
surgeon  ;  sometimes  the  rigging,  and  then  I 
advise;  sometimes  the  engines,  and  we  go  to 
the  brain  specialist ;  sometimes  the  lookout  on 
the  bridge  is  tired,  and  then  we  see  an  oculist. 
I  should  recommend  you  to  see  an  oculist. 
A  little  patching  and  repairing  from  time  to 
time  is  all  we  w^ant.  An  oculist,  by  all 
means." 

Dick  sought  an  oculist — the  best  in  London. 
He  was  certain  that  the  local  practitioner  did 


i84      The  Light  that  Failed 

not  know  anything  about  his  trade,  and  more 
certain  that  Maisie  would  laugh  at  him  it  he 
had  to  take  to  spectacles. 

"  I've  neglected  the  warnings  of  my  stom- 
ach too  long.  Hence  these  spots  before  the 
eyes,  Binkie.  I  can  see  as  well  as  I  ever 
could." 

As  he  entered  the  hall  that  led  to  the  con- 
sulting-room a  man  cannoned  against  him. 
Dick  saw  the  face  as  it  hurried  into  the 
street. 

"  That's  the  writer-type.  He  has  the  same 
modeling  of  the  forehead  as  Torp.  He  looks 
sick.  Probably  heard  something  he  didn't 
like." 

Even  as  he  thought,  a  great  fear  came  upon 
Dick,  a  fear  that  made  him  hold  his  breath  as 
he  walked  into  the  oculist's  waiting-room, 
with  the  heavy  carved  furniture,  the  dark-green 
paper,  and  the  sober-hued  prints  on  the  wall. 
He  recognized  a  reproduction  of  one  of  his 
own  sketches. 

Many  people  were  waiting  their  turn  before 
him.  His  eye  was  caught  by  a  flaming  red- 
and-gold  Christmas  carol  book.  Little  chil- 
dren came  to  that  eye  doctor,  and  they  needed 
large-type  amusement. 

''That's  idolatrous  bad  art,"  he  said,  draw- 
ing the  book  toward  himself.  "  From  the 
anatomy  of  the  angels,  it  has  been  made  in 
Germany."  He  opened  it  mechanically,  and 
there  leaped  to  his  eyes  a  verse  printed  in  red 
ink: 


The  Light  that  Failed      185 

*•  The  next  good  joy  that  Mary  had. 

It  was  the  joy  of  three, 
To  see  her  good  Son  Jesus  Christ 

Making  the  bhnd  to  see  ; 
Making  the  blind  to  see,  good  Lord, 

And  happy  may  we  be. 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost 

To  ail  eternity  !  " 

Dick  read  and  reread  the  verse  till  his  turn 
came,  and  the  doctor  was  bending  above  him, 
seated  in  an  armchair.  The  blaze  of  a  gas- 
microscope  in  his  eyes  made  him  wince.  The 
doctor's  hand  touched  the  scar  of  the  sword- 
cut  on  Dick's  head,  and  Dick  explained 
briefly  how  he  had  come  by  it.  When  the 
flame  was  removed  Dick  saw  the  doctor's  face, 
and  the  fear  came  upon  him  again.  The 
doctor  wrapped  himself  in  a  mist  of  words, 
Dick  caught  allusions  to  "scar,"  "frontal 
bone,"  *'  optic  nerve,"  "  extreme  caution," 
and  the  "avoidance  of  mental  anxiety." 

"  Verdict  ?  "  he  said,  faintly.  "  My  business 
is  painting,  and  I  daren't  waste  time.  What 
do  you  make  of  it  ?  " 

Again  the  whirl  of  words,  but  this  time 
they  conveyed  a  meaning. 

"  Can  you  give  me  anything  to  drink  ?  " 

Many  sentences  were  pronounced  in  that 
darkened  room,  and  the  prisoners  often 
needed  cheering.  Dick  found  a  glass  ot 
liqueur  brandy  in  his  hand. 

"  As  far  as  I  can  gather,"  he  said,  coughing, 
above  the  spirit,  "you  call  it  decay  of  the 
optic     nerve,    or    something,    and   therefore 


1 86       The  Light  that  Failed 

hopeless.  What  is  my  time  limit,  avoiding  all 
strain  and  worry  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  one  year." 

*'  My  God !  And  if  I  don't  take  care  of 
myself  ? " 

"  I  really  could  not  say.  One  cannot  as- 
certain the  exact  amount  of  injury  inflicted  by 
the  sword-cut.  The  scar  is  an  old  one,  and — 
exposure  to  tlie  strong  light  of  the  desert,  did 
you  say  ? — witli  excessive  application  to  fine 
work?     I  really  could  not  say." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  it  has  come  with- 
out any  warning.  If  you  will  let  me,  I'll  sit 
here  for  a  minute,  and  then  I'll  go.  You 
have  been  very  good  in  telling  me  the  truth. 
Without  any  warning — without  any  warning. 
Thanks." 

Dick  went  into  the  street,  and  was  raptur- 
ously received  by  Binkie.  "  We're  got  it  very 
badly,  little  dog  !  Just  as  badly  as  we  can  get 
it.     We'll  go  to  the  park  to  think  it  out." 

They  headed  for  a  certain  tree  that  Dick 
knew  well,  and  they  sat  down  to  think, 
because  his  legs  were  trembling  under  him, 
and  there  was  cold  fear  at  the  pit  of  his 
stomach. 

*'  How  could  it  have  come  without  any 
warning  ?  It's  as  sudden  as  being  shot.  It's 
the  living  death,  Binkie.  We're  to  be  shut  up 
in  the  dark  in  one  year  if  we're  careful,  and 
we  sha'n't  see  anybody,  and  we  shall  never 
have  anything  we  want,  not  though  we  live  to 
be  a  hundred."     Binkie  wao^ged   his  tail  joy- 


The  Light  that  Failed       187 

ously.  "  Binkie,  we  must  think.  Let's  see 
how  it  feels  to  be  blind."  Dick  shut  his  eyes, 
and  flaming  commas  and  Catherine  wheels 
floated  inside  the  lids.  Yet  when  he  looked 
across  the  park  the  scope  of  his  vision  was  not 
contracted.  He  could  see  perfectly,  until  a 
procession  of  slow-wheeling  fireworks  defiled 
across  his  eyeballs. 

"  Little  dorglums,  we  aren't  at  all  well. 
Let's  go  home.  If  only  Torp  were  back, 
now! " 

Now  Torpenhow  was  in  the  south  of  Eng- 
land inspecting  dock-yards  in  the  company  of 
the  Nilghai.  His  letters  were  brief  and  full 
of  mystery. 

Dick  had  never  asked  anybody  to  help  him 
in  his  joys  or  his  sorrows.  He  argued,  in  the 
loneliness  of  the  studio,  henceforward  to  be 
decorated  with  a  fihn  of  gray  gauze  in  one 
corner,  that,  if  his  fate  were  blindness,  all  the 
Torpenhows  in  the  world  could  not  save  him. 
*'  I  can't  call  him  off  his  trip  to  sit  down  and 
sympathize  with  me.  I  must  pull  through  the 
business  alone,"  he  said.  He  was  lying  on 
the  sofa  eating  his  mustache  and  wondering 
what  the  darkness  of  the  night  would  be  like. 
Then  came  to  his  mind  the  memory  of  a  quaint 
scene  in  the  Soudan.  A  soldier  had  been 
nearly  hacked  in  two  by  a  broad-bladed  Arab 
spear.  For  one  instant  the  man  felt  no  pain. 
Looking  down,  he  saw  that  his  life  blood  was 
going  from  him.  The  stupid  bewilderment  on 
his  face  was  so  intensely  comic  that  both  Dick 


£88       The  Light  that  Failed 

and  Torpenhow,  still  panting  and  unstrung 
from  a  fight  for  life,  had  roared  with  laughter, 
in  which  the  man  seemed  as  if  he  would  join, 
but,  as  his  lips  parted  in  a  sheepish  grin,  the 
agony  of  death  came  upon  him,  and  he  pitched 
grunting  at  their  feet.  Dick  laughed  again, 
remembering  the  horror.  It  seemed  so  ex- 
actly like  his  own  case.  "  But  I  have  a  little 
more  time  allowed  me,"  he  said.  He  paced 
up  and  down  the  room,  quietly  at  first,  but 
afterward  with  the  hurried  feet  of  fear.  It 
was  as  though  a  black  shadow  stood  at  his 
elbow  and  urged  him  to  go  forward ;  and 
there  were  only  weaving  circles  and  floating 
pin-dots  before  his  eyes. 

"  We  must  be  calm,  Binkie  ;  we  must  be 
calm."  He  talked  aloud  for  the  sake  of  dis- 
traction. "This  isn't  nice  at  all.  What  shall 
we  do  ?  We  must  do  something.  Our  time 
is  short.  I  shouldn't  have  believed  that  this 
morning  ;  but  now  things  are  different,  Binkie. 
W'here  was  Moses  when  the  light  went  out  ^  " 

Binkie  smiled  from  ear  to  ear,  as  a  well-bred 
terrier  should,  but  made  no  suggestion. 

"Were  there  but  world  enough  and  time, 
this   coyness,  Binkie,  were   no  crime.     But  at 

my  back  I  always   hear "     He  wiped  his 

forehead,  which  was  unpleasantly  damp, 
*'  What  can  I  do  ?  What  can  I  do  ?  I  haven't 
any  notions  left,  and  I  can't  think  connect- 
edly, but  I  must  do  something  or  I  shall  go  off 
my  head." 

The  hurried  walk  recommenced,  Dick  stop' 


The  Light  that  Failed       189 

ping  every  now  and  again  to  drag  forth  long- 
neglected  canvases  and  old  note-books  ;  foi 
he  turned  to  his  work  by  instinct,  as  a  thing 
that  could  not  fail.  "  You  won't  do,  and  you 
won't  do,"  he  said  at  each  inspection.  *'  No 
more  soldiers.  I  couldn't  paint  'em.  Sud- 
den death  comes  home  too  early,  and  this  is 
battle  and  murder  both  for  me." 

The  day  was  failing,  and  Dick  thought  foi 
a  moment  that  the  twilight  of  the  blind 
had  come  upon  him  unawares.  "  Allah  Al- 
mighty ! "  he  cried,  despairingly,  "  help  me 
through  the  time  of  waiting,  and  I  won't  whine 
when  my  punishment  comes.  What  can  I  do 
now,  before  the  light  goes  ? " 

There  was  no  answer.  Dick  waited  till  he 
could  regain  some  sort  of  control  over  himself. 
His  hands  were  shaking,  and  he  prided  him- 
self on  their  steadiness  ;  he  could  feel  that  his 
lips  were  quivering,  and  the  sweat  was  run- 
ning down  his  face.  He  was  lashed  by  feafj 
driven  forward  by  the  desire  to  get  to  work  at 
once  and  accomplish  something,  and  mad- 
dened by  the  refusal  of  his  brain  to  more  than 
repeat  the  news  that  he  was  about  to  go  blind- 

"It's  a  humiliating  exhibition,"  he  thought, 
"  and  I'm  glad  Torp  isn't  here  to  see.  The 
doctor  said  I  was  to  avoid  mental  worry. 
Come  here  and  let  me  pet  you,  Binkie.'^ 

The  little  dog  yelped  because  Dick  nearly 
squeezed  the  bark  out  of  him.  Then  he  heard 
the  man  speaking  in  the  twilight,  and,  dog-like, 
understood  that  his  trouble  stood  off  from  him. 


I90       The  Light  that  Failed 

*'  Allah  is  good,  Binkie.  Not  quite  so  gentle 
as  we  could  wish,  but  we'll  discuss  that  later. 
I  think  I  see  my  way  to  it  now.  All  those 
studies  of  Bessie's  head  were  nonsense,  and 
they  nearly  brought  your  master  into  a  scrape. 
I  hold  the  notion  now  as  clear  as  crystal — '  the 
Melancolia  that  transcends  all  wit.'  There 
shall  be  Maisie  in  that  head,  because  I  shall 
never  get  Maisie  ;  and  Bess  of  course,  because 
she  knows  all  about  Melancolia,  though  she 
doesn't  know  she  knows  ;  and  there  shall  be 
some  drawing  in  it,  and  it  shall  all  end  up  with 
a  laugh.  That's  for  myself.  Shall  she  giggle 
or  grin  ?  No,  she  shall  laugh  right  out  of  the 
canvas,  and  every  man  and  woman  that  ever 
had  a  sorrow  of  their  own  shall — what  is  it  the 
poem  says  ? — 

"  *  Understand  the  speech  and  feel  a  stir 
Of  fellowship  in  all  disastrous  fight.' 

*  In  all  disastrous  fight  ? '  That's  better  than 
painting  the  thing  merely  to  pique  Maisie. 
I  can  do  it  now  because  I  have  it  inside  me. 
Binkie,  I'm  going  to  hold  you  up  by  your  tail. 
You're  an  omen.      Come  here.'* 

Binkie  swung  head  downward  for  a  moment 
without  speaking. 

"Rather  like  holding  a  guinea  pig;  but 
you're  a  brave  little  dog,  and  you  don't  yelp 
when  you're  maltreated.     It  is  an  omen." 

Binkie  went  to  his  own  chair,  and  as  often  as 
he  looked  saw  Dick  walking  up  and  down, 
rubbing  his  hands  and  chuckling.      That  night 


The  Light  that  Failed      191 

Dick  wrote  a  letter  to  Maisie  full  of  the  ten- 
derest  regard  for  her  health,  but  saying  very 
little  about  his  own,  and  dreamed  of  the 
Melancolia  to  be  born.  Not  till  morning  did 
he  remember  that  something  might  happen  to 
him  in  the  future. 

He  fell  to  work,  whistling  softly,  and  was 
swallowed  up  in  the  clean,  clear  joy  of  creation 
which  does  not  come  to  man  too  often,  lest  he 
should  consider  himself  the  equal  of  his  God 
and  so  refuse  to  die  at  the  appointed  time. 
He  forgot  Maisie,  Torpenhow,  and  Binkie  at 
his  feet,  but  remembered  to  stir  Bessie,  who 
needed  very  little  stirring,  into  a  tremendous 
rage,  that  he  might  watch  the  smoldering  lights 
in  her  eyes.  He  threw  himself  without  res- 
ervation into  his  work,  and  did  not  think  of 
the  doom  that  was  to  overtake  him,  for  he 
was  possessed  with  his  notion,  and  the  things 
of  this  world  had  no  power  upon  him. 

"You're  pleased  to-day,"  said  Bessie. 

Dick  waved  his  mahlstick  in  mystic  circles 
and  went  to  the  sideboard  for  a  drink.  In  the 
evening,  when  the  exultation  of  the  day  had 
died  down,  he  went  to  the  sideboard  again, 
and  after  some  visits  became  convinced  that 
the  eye  doctor  was  a  liar,  since  he  still  could 
see  everything  very  clearl3\  He  was  of  opin- 
ion that  he  would  even  make  a  home  for 
Maisie,  and  that  whether  she  liked  it  or  not 
she  should  be  his  wife.  The  mood  passed 
next  morning,  but  the  sideboard  and  all  upon 
it  remained  for   his  comfort.     Again  he    set 


192       The  Light  that  Failed 

to  work,  and  his  eyes  troubled  him  with  spots 
and  dashes  and  blurs  till  he  had  taken  counsel 
with  the  sideboard,  and  the  Melancolia  both 
on  the  canvas  and  in  his  own   mind  appeared 
lovelier  than   ever.     There    was   a   delightful 
sense   of    irresponsibility   upon    him,  such    as 
they  feel  who,  walking  among  their  fellow-men, 
know  that  the  death   sentence  of    disease    is 
upon  them,  and  since  fear  is  but  waste  of  the 
little  time  left,  are  riotously  happy.      The  days 
passed  without  event.      Bessie  arrived  punc- 
tually always,  and  though  her  voice  seemed  to 
Dick  to  come  from   a   distance,   her  face  was 
always   very  near,  and  the  Melancolia  began 
to  flame  on   the    canvas,  in  the   likeness  of  a 
woman  who  had  known   all  the  sorrow  in  the 
world  and    was  laughing  at   it.     It  was  true 
that  the  corners   of  the   studio  draped  them 
selves  in  gray  film  and  retired  into  the  dark- 
ness, that  the  spots  in  his  eyes  and  the  pains 
across  his  head    were  very   troublesome,   and 
that   Maisie's  letters  were  hard    to   read  and 
harder  still  to  answer.      He  could  not  tell  her 
of  his  trouble,  and  he  could  not  laugh  at  her 
accounts  of  her  own    Melancolia,   which   was 
always  going  to  be  finished.     But  the  furious 
days  of  toil  and  the  night  of  wild  dreams  made 
amends  for  all,  and  the  sideboard  was  his  best 
friend  on  earth.      Bessie  was  singularly  dull. 
She  used  to  shriek  with  rage  when  Dick  stared 
at   her   between   half-closed   eyes.     Now   she 
sulked  or   watched  him  with   disgust,  saying 
very  little. 


The  Light  that  Failed       193 

Torpenhovv  had  been  absent  six  weeks.  An 
incoherent  note  heralded  his  return.  ''  News  ! 
great  news  !  "  he  said. 

"  The  Nilghai  knows,  and  so  does  the 
Keneu.  We're  all  back  on  Thursday.  Get 
lunch  and  clean  your  accounterments." 

Dick  showed  Bessie  the  letter,  and  she 
abused  him  for  that  he  had  ever  sent  Torpen- 
how  away  and  ruined  her  life. 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  brutally,  "  you're  better 
as  you  are  instead  of  making  love  to  some 
drunken  beast  in  the  street."  He  felt  that  he 
had  rescued  Torpenhow  from  great  temptation, 

"  I  don't  know  if  that's  any  worse  than  sit- 
ting to  a  drunken  beast  in  a  studio.  You 
haven't  been  sober  for  three  weeks.  You've 
been  soaking  the  whole  time  ;  and  yet  you 
pretend  you're  better  than  me  ! '' 

"  What  d'you  mean  ?  "  said  Dick. 

"  Mean  !  You'll  see  when  Mr.  Torpenhow 
comes  back."  It  was  not  long  to  wait.  Tor- 
penhow met  Bessie  on  the  staircase  without  a 
sign  of  feeling.  He  had  news  that  was  more 
to  him  than  many  Bessies,  and  the  Keneu  and 
the  Nilghai  were  tramping  behind  him,  calling 
for  Dick. 

*'  Drinking  like  a  fish,"  Bessie  whispered. 
"  He's  been  at  it  for  nearly  a  month."  She 
followed  the  men  stealthily  to  hear  judgment 
done. 

They  came  into  the  studio,  rejoicing,  to  be 
welcomed  over-effusively  by  a  drawn,  lined, 
shrunken,    haggard    wreck — unshaven,    blue- 


194       The  Light  that  Failed 

white  about  the  nostrils,  stooping  in  the 
shoulders,  and  peering  under  his  eyebrows 
nervously.  The  drink  had  been  at  work  as 
steadily  as  Dick. 

"  Is  that  you  ?"  said  Torpenhow. 

"  All  that's  left  of  me.  Sit  down.  Binkie's 
quite  well,  and  I've  been  doing  some  good 
work."     He  reeled  where  he  stood. 

"You've  done  some  of  the  worst  work 
you've  ever  done  in  your  life.  Man  alive, 
you're " 

Torpenhow  turned  to  his  companions  ap- 
pealingly,  and  they  left  the  room  to  find  lunch 
elsewhere.  Then  he  spoke  ;  but,  since  the  re- 
proof of  a  friend  is  much  too  sacred  and  inti- 
mate a  thing  to  be  printed,  and  since  Torpen- 
how used  figures  and  metaphors  which  were 
unseemly  and  contempt  untranslatable,  it  will 
never  be  known  what  was  actually  said  to  Dick, 
who  blinked  and  winked  and  picked  at  his 
hands.  After  a  time  the  culprit  began  to  feel 
the  need  of  a  little  self-respect.  He  was 
quite  sure  that  he  had  not  in  any  way  departed 
from  virtue,  and  there  were  reasons,  too,  of 
which  Torpenhow  knew  nothing.  He  would 
explain. 

He  rose,  tried  to  straighten  his  shoulders, 
and  spoke  to  the  face  he  could  hardly  see. 

"  You  are  right,'^  he  said.  "  But  I  am  right 
too.  After  you  went  away  I  had  some  trouble 
with  my  eyes.  So  I  went  to  an  oculist,  and 
he  turned  a  gasogene — I  mean  a  gas  engine — 
into  my  eye.      That  was    very  long    ago.     He 


The  Light  that  Failed       195 

said,  *  Scar  on  the  head — sword-cut,  and  optic 
nerve. '  Make  a  note  of  that.  So  I  am  going 
blind.  I  have  some  work  to  do  before  I  go 
blind,  and  I  suppose  that  I  must  do  it.  I 
cannot  see  much  now,  but  I  can  see  best  when 
I  am  drunk.  I  did  not  know  I  was  drunk  till 
I  was  told  but  I  must  go  on  with  my  work. 
If  you  want  to  see  it,  there  it  is."  He  pointed 
to  the  all  but  completed  Melancolia  and  looked 
for  applause. 

Torpenhow  said  nothing,  and  Dick  began 
to  whimper  feebly  for  joy  at  seeing  Torpenhow 
again,  for  grief  at  misdeeds — if,  indeed,  they 
were  misdeeds — that  made  Torpenhow  remote 
and  unsympathetic,  and  for  childish  vanity 
hurt,  since  Torpenhow  had  not  given  a  word 
of  praise  to  his  wonderful  picture. 

Bessie  looked  through  the  key-hole  after  a 
long  pause,  and  saw  the  two  walking  up  and 
down  as  usual,  Torpenhow's  hand  on  Dick's 
shoulder.  Hereat  she  said  something  so  im- 
proper that  it  shocked  even  Binkie,  who  was 
dribbling  patiently  on  the  landing  with  the 
hope  of  seeing  his  master  again. 


196       The  Light  that  Failed 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  lark  will  make  her  hymn  to  God, 

The  partridge  call  her  brood, 
While  I  forget  the  heath  I  trod, 

The  fields  wherein  I  stood. 
Tis  dule  to  know  not  night  from  mom, 

But  deeper  dule  to  know 
I  can  but  hear  the  hunter's  horn 

That  once  I  used  to  blow. 

The  Only  Son, 

It  was  the  third  day  after  Torpenhow's 
return,  and  his  heart  was  heavy. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  can't  see 
without  whisky  ?  It's  generally  the  other  way 
about " 

*'  Can  a  drunkard  swear  on  his  honor  ?  ** 
said  Dick. 

'•  Yes,  if  he  has  been  as  good  a  man  as 
you." 

"Then  I  give  my  word  of  honor,"  said 
Dick,  speaking  hurriedly  through  parched  lips. 
"  Old  man,  I  can  hardly  see  your  face  now. 
You've  kept  me  sober  for  two  days — if  I  ever 
was  drunk — and  I've  done  no  work.  Don't 
keep  me  back  any  more.  I  don't  know  when 
my  eyes  may  give  out.  The  spots  and  dots  and 
the  pains  and  things  are  crowding  worse  than 
ever.  I  swear  I  can  see  all  right  when  I'm — ■ 
when  I'm  moderately  screwed,  as  you  say.  Give 
me  three  more  sittings  from  Bessie  and  all  the 


The  Light  that  Failed       I97 

—stuff  I  want,  and  the  picture  will  be  done. 
I  can't  kill  myself  in  three  days.  It  only 
means  a  touch  of  D.  T.  at  the  worst." 

"  If  I  give  you  three  days  more  will  you 
promise  me  to  stop  work  and — the  other  thing, 
whether  the  picture's  finished  or  not  ?  " 

"  I  can't.  You  don't  know  what  that  pic- 
ture means  to  me.  But  surely  you  could  get 
the  Nilghai  to  help  you,  and  knock  me  down 
and  tie  me  up.  I  shouldn't  fight  for  the 
whisky,  but  I  should  for  the  work." 

"  Go  on,  then.  I  give  you  three  days  :  but 
you're  nearly  breaking  my  heart." 

Dick  returned  to  his  work,  toiling  as  one 
possessed ;  and  the  yellow  devil  of  whisky 
stood  by  him  and  chased  away  the  spots  in  his 
eyes.  The  Melancolia  was  nearly  finished, 
and  was  all  or  nearly  all  that  he  hoped  she 
would  be.  Dick  jested  with  Bessie,  who  re- 
minded him  that  he  was  a  "  drunken  beast ;  '^ 
but  the  reproof  did  not  move  him. 

"  You  can't  understand,  Bess.  We  are  in 
sight  of  land  now,  and  soon  we  shall  lie  back 
and  think  about  what  we've  done.  I'll  give 
you  three  months'  pay  when  the  picture's  fin- 
ished, and  next  time  I  have  anymore  work  in 
hand — but  that  doesn't  matter.  Won't  three 
months'  pay  make  you  hate  me  less  ? '' 

"  No,  it  won't !  I  hate  you,  and  I'll  go  on 
hating  you.  Mr.  Torpenhow  won't  speak  to 
me  any  more.  He's  always  looking  at  map- 
things  and  red-backed  books." 

Bessie  did  not  say  that  she  had  again  laid 


198       The  Light  that  Failed 

siege  to  Torpenhow,  or  that  he  had  at  the 
end  of  her  passionate  pleading  picked  her  up, 
given  her  a  kiss,  and  put  her  outside  the  door 
with  a  recommendation  not  to  be  a  little  fool. 
He  spent  most  of  his  time  in  the  company  of 
the  Nilghai,  and  their  talk  was  of  war  in  the 
near  future,  the  hiring  of  transports  and 
secret  preparations  among  the  dockyards. 
He  did  not  care  to  see  Dick  till  the  picture 
was  finished. 

"  He's  doing  first-class  work,'^  he  said  to 
the  Nilghai,  "  and  it's  quite  out  of  his  regular 
line.  But,  for  the  matter  of  that,  so's  his  in- 
fernal drinking." 

"  Never  mind.  Leave  him  alone.  When 
he  has  come  to  his  senses  again  we'll  carry  him 
off  from  this  place  and  let  him  breathe  clean 
air.  Poor  Dick !  I  don't  envy  you,  Torp, 
when  his  eyes  fail." 

"Yes,  it  will  be  a  case  of  'God  help  the 
man  who's  chained  to  our  Davie.'  The  worst 
is  that  we  don't  know  when  it  will  happen  ; 
and  I  believe  the  uncertainty  and  the  waiting 
have  sent  Dick  to  the  whisky  more  than  any- 
thing else." 

"  How  the  Arab  who  cut  his  head  open 
would  grin  if  he  knew !  " 

*'  He's  at  perfect  liberty  to  grin  if  he  can. 
He's  dead.     That's  poor  consolation  now." 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  Torpenhow 
heard  Dick  calling  for  him.  "  All  finished  !  " 
he  shouted.  "I've  done  it.  Come  in  !  Isn't 
she    a   beauty  ?     Isn't   she  a  darling  ?     I've 


The  Light  that  Failed       199 

been  down  to  hell  to  get  her ;  but  isn't  she 
worth  it  ?  " 

Torpenhow  looked  at  the  head  of  a  woman 
and  laughed— a  full-lipped,  hollow-eyed  woman 
who  laughed  from  out  of  the  canvas  as  Dick  had 
intended  she  should. 

"  Who  taught  you  how  to  do  it  ?  "  said  Tor- 
penhow. "  The  touch  and  motion  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  your  regular  work.  What  a 
face  it  is  !  What  eyes,  and  what  insolence  ! " 
Unconsciously  he  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed  with  her.  **  She's  seen  the  game 
played  out — I  don't  think  she  had  a  good  time 
of  it — and  now  she  doesn't  care.  Isn't  that 
the  idea  ? " 

"  Exactly." 

"  Where  did  you  get  th,  mouth  and  chin 
from  ?     They  don't  belong  to  Bess." 

''  They're — some  one  else's.  But  isn't  it 
good  ?  Isn't  it  thundering  good  ?  Wasn't  it 
worth  the  whisky  ?  I  did  it.  Alone  I  did  it, 
and  it's  the  best  I  can  do."  He  drew  his 
breath  sharply,  and  whispered  :  "  Just  God  ! 
What  could  I  not  do  ten  years  hence,  if  I  can 
do  this  now  !  By  the  way,  what  do  you  think 
of  it,  Bess  ?  " 

The  girl  was  biting  her  lips.  She  loathed 
Torpenhow  because  he  had  taken  no  notice 
of  her 

"  I  think  it's  just  the  horridest,  beastliest 
thing  I  ever  saw,"  she  answered,  and  turned 
away. 

"More  than  you  will  be  of   that   way   of 


2O0       The  Light  that  Failed 

thinking,  young  woman.  Dick,  there's  a  sort 
of  murderous  viperine  suggestion  in  the  poise 
of  the  head  that  I  don't  understand,"  said 
Torpenhovv. 

"That's  trick  work,*  said  Dick,  chuckling 
with  delight  at  being  completely  understood. 
**  I  couldn't  resist  one  little  bit  of  sheer  swag- 
ger. It's  a  French  trick,  and  you  wouldn't 
understand;  but  it's  got  at  by  slewing  round 
the  head  a  trifle,  and  a  tiny,  tiny  foreshorten- 
ing of  one  side  of  the  face  from  the  angle  of 
the  chin  to  the  top  of  the  left  ear.  That  and 
deepening  the  shadow  under  the  lobe  of  the 
ear.  It  was  flagrant  trick  work ;  but,  having 
the  notion  fixed,  I  felt  entitled  to  play  with  it. 
Oh,  you  beauty  1 " 

**  Amen  !     She  is  a  beauty.      I  can  feel  it." 

*'So  will  every  man  who  has  any  sorrow  of 
his  own,"  said  Dick,  slapping  his  thigh.  "  He 
shall  see  his  trouble  there,  and,  by  the  Lord 
Harr3%  just  when  he's  feeling  properly  sorry 
for  himself  he  shall  throw  back  his  head,  and 
laugh,  as  she  is  laughing.  I've  put  the  life  of 
my  heart  and  the  light  of  my  eyes  into  her, 
and  I  don't  care  what  comes.  .  .  .  I'm  tired 
^-awfully  tired.  1  think  I'll  get  to  sleep. 
Take  away  the  whisky,  it  has  served  its  turn. 
Oh,  and  give  Bessie  thirty-six  quid,  and  three 
over  for  luck.     Cover  the  picture." 

He  was  asleep  in  the  long  chair,  his  face 
white  and  haggard,  almost  before  he  had 
finished  the  sentence.  Bessie  tried  to  take 
Torpenhow's  hand.     "Aren't  you  never  going 


The  Light  that  Failed      201 

to  speak  to  me  any  more  ? "  she  said,  but 
Torpenhow  was  looking  at  Dick. 

*'  What  a  stock  of  vanity  the  man  has  !  Til 
take  him  in  hand  to-morrow  and  make  much 
of  him.  He  deserves  it — Eh  ?  what  was  that, 
Bess  .?  " 

"  Nothing.  I'll  put  things  tidy  here  a 
little,  and  then  I'll  go.  You  couldn't  give  me 
that  three  months'  pay  now,  could  you  ?  He 
said  you  were  to." 

Torpenhow  gave  her  a  check  and  went  to 
his  own  rooms.  Bessie  faithfully  tidied  up 
the  studio,  set  the  door  ajar  for  flight,  emptied 
half  a  bottle  of  turpentine  on  a  duster,  and 
began  to  scrub  the  face  of  the  Melancolia 
viciously.  The  paint  did  not  smudge  quickly 
enough.  She  took  a  palette  knife  and  scraped, 
following  each  stroke  with  the  wet  duster. 
In  five  minutes  the  picture  was  a  formless, 
scarred  muddle  of  colors.  She  threw  the 
paint-stained  duster  into  the  studio  stove, 
stuck  out  her  tongue  at  the  sleeper,  and  whis- 
pered, "  Bilked  !  "  as  she  turned  to  run  down 
the  staircase.  She  would  never  see  Torpen- 
how any  more,  but  she  had  at  least  done  harm 
to  the  man  who  had  come  between  her  and 
her  desire,  and  who  used  to  make  fun  of  her. 
Cashing  the  check  was  the  very  cream  of  the 
jest  to  Bessie.  Then  the  little  privateer  sailed 
across  the  Thames,  to  be  swallowed  up  in  the 
gray  wilderness  of  South-the-water. 

Dick  slept  till  late  in  the  evening,  when 
Torpenhow  dragged  him  off  to  bed.      His  eyes 


202       The  Light  that  Failed 

were  as  bright  as  his  voice  was  hoarse.  "  Lef  s 
have  another  look  at  the  picture,"  he  said,  as 
insistently  as  a  child. 

"  You — go — to — bed,"  said  Torpenhow. 
*'  You  aren't  at  all  well,  though  you  mayn't 
know  it.  You're  as  jumpy  as  a  cat." 
"  I  reform  to-morrow.  Good-night." 
As  he  repassed  through  the  studio,  Torpen- 
how lifted  the  cloth  above  the  picture,  and 
almost  betrayed  himself  by  outcries  :  Wiped 
out ! — scraped  out  and  turped  out !  If  Dick 
knows  this  to-night  he'll  go  perfectly  mad. 
He's  on  the  verge  of  the  jumps  as  it  is. 
That's  Bess — the  little  fiend  !  Only  a  woman 
could  have  done  that — with  the  ink  not  dry 
on  the  cheek,  too !  Dick  will  be  raving  mad 
to  morrow.  It  was  all  my  fault  for  trying  to 
help  gutter  devils.  Oh,  my  poor  Dick,  the 
Lord  is  hitting  you  very  hard  !  " 

•Dick  could  not  sleep  that  night,  partly  for 
pure  joy  and  partly  because  the  well-known 
Catherine  wheels  inside  his  eyes  had  given 
place  to  crackling  volcanoes  of  many-colored 
fires.  *'  Spout  away,"  he  said,  aloud.  *'  I've 
done  my  work,  and  now  you  can  do  what  you 
please."  He  lay  still,  staring  at  the  ceiling, 
the  long  pent-up  delirium  of  drink  in  his  veins, 
his  brain  on  fire  with  racing  thoughts  that 
would  not  stay  to  be  considered,  and  his 
hands  crisped  and  dry.  He  had  just  discov- 
ered that  he  was  painting  the  face  of  the 
Melancolia  on  a  revolving  dome  ribbed  with 
millions  of  lights,  and  that  all   his  wondrous 


The  Light  that  Failed       203 

thoughts  stood  embodied  hundreds  of  feet 
below  his  tiny  swinging  plank,  shouting  to- 
gether in  his  honor,  when  something  cracked 
inside  his  temples  like  an  overstrained  bow- 
string, the  glittering  dome  broke  inward,  and 
he  was  alone  in  the  thick  night. 

"  I'll  go  to  sleep.  The  room's  very  dark. 
Let's  light  a  lamp  and  see  how  the  Melancolia 
looks.      There  ought  to  have  been  a  moon." 

It  was  then  that  Torpenhow  heard  his  name 
called  by  a  voice  that  he  did  not  know — in 
the  rattling  accents  of  deadly  fear. 

"  He's  looked  at  the  picture,"  was  his  first 
thought,  as  he  hurried  into  the  bedroom  and 
found  Dick  sitting  up  and  beating  the  air  with 
his  hands. 

"  Torp  !  Torp !  Where  are  you  ?  For 
pity's  sake,  come  to  me  ?  " 

*'  What's  the  matter  ?  '* 

Dick  clutched  at  his  shoulder.  "  Matter  ! 
I've  been  lying  here  for  hours  in  the  dark,  and 
you  never  heard  me.  Torp,  old  man,  don't 
go  away.  I'm  all  in  the  dark.  In  the  dark, 
I  tell  you." 

Torpenhow  held  the  candle  within  a  foot  of 
Dick's  eyes,  but  there  was  no  light  in  those 
eyes.  He  lighted  the  gas,  and  Dick  heard  the 
flame  catch.  The  grip  of  his  fingers  on  Tor- 
penhow's  shoulder  made  Torpenhow  wince. 

"  Don't  leave  me.  You  wouldn^t  leave  me 
alone  now,  would  you  ?  I  can't  see.  D'you 
understand  ?  It's  black — quite  black,  and  I 
feel  as  if  I  was  falling  through  it  all." 


204       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  Steady  does  it."  Torpenhow  put  his  arm 
round  Dick,  and  instinctively  began  to  rock 
him  gently  to  and  fro. 

*  "That's  good.  Now  don't  talk.  If  I  keep 
very  quiet  for  awhile  this  darkness  will  lift. 
It  seems  just  on  the  point  of  breaking. 
H'sh  !  "  Dick  knit  his  brows  and  stared  des- 
perately in  front  of  him.  The  night  air  was 
chilling  Torpenhow's  toes. 

"Can  you  stay  like  that  a  minute?"  he 
said.  "  I'll  get  my  dressing-gown  and  some 
slippers." 

Dick  clutched  the  bed-head  with  both  hands 
and  waited  for  the  darkness  to  clear  away. 
"  What  a  time  you've  been  !  "  he  cried,  when 
Torpenhow  returned.  "  It's  as  black  as  ever. 
And  what  are  you  banging  about  in  the  door- 
way ? " 

'•  Long  chair — horse-blanket — pillow.  Go- 
ing to  sleep  by  you.  Lie  down  now  ;  you'll 
be  better  in  the  morning." 

"■  I  sha'n't.  The  voice  rose  to  a  wail. 
"  My  God  !  I'm  blind  !  I'm  blind,  and  the 
darkness  will  never  go  away."  He  made  as 
if  to  leap  from  the  bed,  but  Torpenhow's  arms 
were  around  him,  and  Torpenhow's  chin  was 
on  his  shoulder,  and  his  breath  was  squeezed 
out  of  him.  He  could  only  gasp,  "  Blind  !  '* 
and  wriggle  feebly. 

"  Steady,  Dickie,  steady  !  "  said  the  deep 
voice  in  his  ear,  and  the  grip  tightened.  "  Bite 
on  the  bullet,  old  man,  and  don't  let  them 
think  you're  afraid."     The  grip  could  draw  no 


The  Light  that  Failed      205 

closer.  Both  men  were  breathing  heavily. 
Dick  threw  his  head  from  side  to  side  and 
groaned. 

"  Let  me  go,"  he  panted.  "  You're  crack- 
ing my  ribs.  We — we  mustn't  let  them  think 
we're  afraid,  must  we — all  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness and  that  lot  ?  " 

*'  Lie  down.      It's  all  over  now.'* 

*'  Yes, "  said  Dick,  obediently.  "  But  would 
you' mind  letting  me  hold  your  hand?  I  feel 
as  if  I  wanted  something  to  hold  on  to.  One 
drops  through  the  dark  so." 

Torpenhow  thrust  out  a  large  and  hairy  paw 
from  the  long  chair.  Dick  clutched  it  tightly, 
and  in  half  an  hour  had  fallen  asleep.  Tor- 
penhow withdrew  his  hand,  and,  stooping  over 
Dick,  kissed  him  lightly  on  the  forehead,  as 
men  do  sometimes  kiss  a  wounded  comrade 
in  the  hour  of  death,  to  ease  his  departure. 

In  the  gray  dawn  Torpenhow  heard  Dick 
talking  to  himself.  He  was  adrift  on  the 
shoreless  tides  of  delirium,  speaking  very 
quickly : 

"  It's  a  pity — a  great  pity.  But  it's  helped, 
and  it  must  be  eaten,  Master  George.  Suffi- 
cient unto  the  day  is  the  blindness  thereof, 
and,  further,  putting  aside  all  Melancolias 
and  false  humors,  it  is  of  obvious  notoriety — ■ 
such  as  mine  was — that  the  queen  can  do  no 
wrong.  Torp  doesn't  know  that.  I'll  tell 
him  when  we're  a  little  further  into  the  desert. 
What  a  bungle  those  boatmen  are  making  of 
the  steamer  ropes !     They'll  have   that   four* 


2o6      The  Light  that  Failed 

inch  hawser  chafed  through  in  a  minute.  I 
told  you  so  !  There  she  goes  !  White  foam  on 
green  water,  and  the  steamer  slewing  round. 
How  good  that  looks!  I'll  sketch  it.  No,  I 
can't.  I'm  afflicted  with  ophthalmia.  That 
was  one  of  the  ten  plagues  of  Egypt,  and  it 
extends  up  the  Nile  in  the  shape  of  cataract. 
Ha  !  that's  a  joke,  Torp.  Laugh,  you  graven 
image,  and  stand  clear  of  the  hawser.  .  .  . 
I'll  knock  you  into  the  water  and  make  your 
dress  all  dirty,  Maisie  dear." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Torpenhow.  *'  This  hap- 
pened before.     That  night  on  the  river." 

"  She'll  be  sure  to  say  it's  my  fault  if  you 
get  muddy,  and  you're  quite  near  enough  to 
the  breakwater.  Maisie,  that's  not  fair.  Ah  ! 
I  knew  you'd  miss.  Low  and  to  the  left,  dear. 
But  you've  no  conviction.  Everything  in  the 
world  except  conviction.  Don't  be  angry, 
darling.  I'd  cut  my  hand  off  if  it  would  give 
you  anything  more  than  obstinacy.  My  right 
hand,  if  it  would  serve." 

"Now,  we  mustn't  listen.  Here's  an  island 
shouting  across  seas  of  misunderstanding  with 
a  vengeance.  But  it's  shouting  truth,  I  fancy,'* 
said  Torpenhow. 

The  babble  continued.  It  all  bore  upon 
Maisie.  Sometimes  Dick  lectured  at  length 
on  his  craft;  then  he  cursed  himself  for  his 
folly  in  being  enslaved.  He  pleaded  to  Maisie 
for  a  kiss — only  one  kiss — before  she  went 
away.  He  called  to  her  to  come  back  from 
Vitry-sur-Marne,  if  she   would  ;  but  through 


The  Light  that  Failed      207 

all  his  ravings  he  bade  heaven  and  earth  wit- 
ness that  the  queen  could  do  no  wrong. 

Torpenhow  listened  attentively,  and  learned 
every  detail  of  Dick's  life  that  had  been  hid- 
den from  him.  For  three  days  Dick  raved 
through  his  past,  and  then  slept  a  natural 
sleep.  "  What  a  strain  he  has  been  running 
under,  poor  chap  !  "  said  Torpenhow.  '*  Dick, 
of  all  men,  handing  himself  over  like  a  dog  ! 
And  I  was  lecturing  him  on  arrogance  !  I 
ought  to  have  known  that  it  was  no  use  to 
judge  a  man.  But  I  did  it.  What  a  demon 
that  girl  must  be  1  Dick's  given  her  his  life — 
confound  him  ! — and  she's  given  him  one  kiss, 
apparently." 

"  Torp,^'  said  Dick,  from  the  bed,  "  go  out 
for  a  walk.  You've  been  here  too  long.  I'll 
get  up.  Hi  1  This  is  annoying.  I  can't 
dress  myself.     Oh,  it's  too  absurd  !  " 

Torpenhow  helped  him  into  his  clothes  and 
led  him  to  the  big  chair  in  the  studio.  He 
sat  quietly  waiting  under  strained  nerves  for 
the  darkness  to  lift.  It  did  not  lift  that  day, 
or  the  next.  Dick  adventured  on  a  voyage 
round  the  walls.  He  hit  his  shins  against  the 
stove,  and  this  suggested  to  him  that  it  would 
be  better  to  crawl  on  all-fours,  one  hand  in 
front  of  him.  Torpenhow  found  him  on  the 
floor. 

"  I'm  trying  to  get  the  geography  of  my  new 
possessions,"  said  he.  "  D'you  remember 
that  nigger  you  gouged  in  the  square  ?  Pity 
you  didn't  keep  the  odd  eye.     It  would  have 


2o8      The  Light  that  Failed 

been  useful.  Any  letters  for  me  ?  Give  me 
all  the  ones  in  fat,  gray  envelopes  with  a  sort 
of  crown  thing  outside.  They  are  of  no  im- 
portance." 

Torpenhow  gave  him  a  letter  with  a  black 
M  on  the  envelope  flap.  Dick  put  it  into  his 
pocket.  There  was  nothing  in  it  that  Tor- 
penhow might  not  have  read,  but  it  belonged 
to  himself  and  to  Maisie,  who  would  never 
belong  to  him. 

"  When  she  finds  that  I  don't  write,  she'll 
stop  writing.  It's  better  so.  I  couldn't  be 
any  use  to  her  now,"  Dick  argued,  and  the 
tempter  suggested  that  he  should  make  known 
his  condition.  Every  nerve  in  him  revolted. 
"  I  have  fallen  low  enough  already.  I'm  not 
going  to  beg  for  pity.  Besides,  it  would  be 
cruel  to  her."  He  strove  to  put  Maisie  out 
of  his  thoughts ;  but  the  blind  have  many 
opportunities  for  thinking,  and  as  the  tides 
of  his  strength  came  back  to  him  in  the  long, 
employless  days  of  dead  darkness,  Dick's 
soul  was  troubled  to  the  core.  Another  letter, 
and  another,  came  from  Maisie.  Then  there 
w^as  silence,  and  Dick  sat  by  the  window  with 
the  pulse  of  summer  in  the  air,  and  pictured 
her  being  won  by  another  man,  stronger  than 
himself.  His  imagination,  the  keener  for  the 
dark  background  it  worked  against,  spared 
him  no  single  detail  that  might  send  him  rag- 
ing up  and  down  the  studio,  to  stumble  over 
the  stove,  that  seemed  to  be  in  four  places  at 
once,,     Worst  of  all,  tobacco  would  not  taste 


The  Light  that  Failed      209 

in  the  dark.  The  arrogance  of  the  man  had 
disappeared,  and  in  its  place  was  settled  de- 
spair that  Torpenhow  knew,  and  blind  pas- 
sion that  Dick  confided  to  his  pillow  at  night. 
The  intervals  between  the  paroxysms  were 
filled  with  intolerable  wailing  and  the  weight 
of  intolerable   darkness. 

"Come  out  into  the  park,"  said  Torpenhow. 
"You  haven't  stirred  out  since  the  beginning 
of  things." 

"  What's  the  use  ?  There's  no  movement 
in  the  dark,  and,  besides  " — he  paused  ir- 
resolutely at  the  head  of  the  stairs — '*  some- 
thing will  run  over  me." 

"  Not  if  I'm  with  you.     Proceed  gingerly." 

The  roar  of  the  streets  filled  Dick  with 
nervous  terror,  and  he  clung  to  Torpenhow's 
arm.  "  Fancy  having  to  feel  for  a  gutter  with 
your  foot !  "  he  said,  petulantly,  as  he  turned 
into  the  park.     "  Let's  curse  God  and  die." 

"  Sentries  are  forbidden  to  pay  unauthor- 
ized compliments.  By  Jove,  there  are  the 
Guards  !  " 

Dick's  figure  straightened.  "  Let's  get 
near  'em.  Let's  go  in  and  look.  Let's  get 
on  the  grass  and  run.  I  can  smell  the 
trees." 

"  Mind  the  low  railing.  That's  all  right  !  " 
Torpenhow  kicked  out  a  tuft  of  grass  with  his 
heel.  "Smell  that,"  he  said.  "Isn't  it 
good  ? "  Dick  snuffed  luxuriously.  "  Now 
pick  up  your  feet  and  run,**  They  approached 
as  near  to  the  regiment  as  was  possible.     The 


210      The  Light  that  Failed 

clank  of  bayonets  being  unfixed  made  Dick's 
nostrils  quiver. 

"  Let's  get  nearer.  They're  in  column, 
aren't  they  ? " 

"  Yes.      How  did  you  know  }  " 

"  Felt  it-  Oh,  my  men  ! — my  beautiful 
men  ! "  He  edged  forward  as  though  he 
could  see.  "  I  could  draw  those  chaps  once. 
Who'll  draw  'em  now  ,?  " 

**  They'll    move    off    in    a    minute.      Don't 


hen  the  band  bes^ins." 


jump 

"Huh!  I'm  not  a  new  charger.  It's  the 
silences  that  hurt.  Nearer,  Torp  ! — nearer! 
Oh,  my  God,  what  wouldn't  I  give  to  see  'em 
for  a  minute  ! — one  half  minute  !  " 

He  could  hear  the  armed  life  almost  with- 
in reach  of  him,  could  hear  the  slings  tighten 
across  the  bandsman's  chest  as  he  heaved  the 
big  drum  from  the  ground. 

"  Sticks  crossed  above  his  head,"  whispered 
Torpenhow. 

"  I  know  !  I  know  !  Who  should  know  if 
I  don't  ?     H'sh  !  " 

The  drumsticks  fell  with  a  boom,  and  the 
men  swung  forward  to  the  crash  of  the  band. 
Dick  felt  the  wind  of  the  massed  movement 
in  his  face,  heard  the  maddening  tramp  of 
feet  and  the  fiction  of  the  pouches  on  the 
belts.  The  big  drum  pounded  out  the  tune. 
It  was  a  music-hall  refrain  that  made  a  perfect 
quickstep : 

"  He  must  be  a  man  of  decent  height. 
He  must  be  a  man  of  weight. 


The  Light  that  Failed       21 1 

He  must  come  home  on  a  Saturday  night 

In  a  thoroughly  sober  state  ; 
He  must  know  how  to  love  me, 

And  he  must  know  how  to  kiss ; 
And  if  he's  enough  to  keep  us  both 

I  can't  refuse  him  bliss." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  Torpenhow,  as 
he  saw  Dick's  head  fall  when  the  last  of  the 
regiment  had  departed. 

"  Nothing.  I  feel  a  little  bit  out  of  the 
running — that's  all.  Torp,  take  me  back. 
Why  did  you  bring  me  out  ?  " 


212      The  Light  that  Failed 


CHAPTER  XII. 

There  were  three  friends  that  buried  the  fourth. 

The  mold  in  his  mouth  and  the  dust  in  his  eyes ; 
And  they  went  south,  and  east,  and  north, 

The  strong  man  fights,  but  the  sick  man  dies. 

There  were  three  friends  that  spoke  of  the  dead, 
The  strong  man  fights,  but  the  sick  man  dies. 

*•  And  would  he  were  here  with  us  now,  "  they  said, 
"The  sun  in  our  face  and  the  wind  in  our  eyes." 

Ballad. 

The  Nilghai  was  angry  with  Torpenhow. 
Dick  had  been  sent  to  bed — blind  men  are 
ever  under  the  orders  of  those  who  can  see — 
and  since  he  had  returned  from  the  park  had 
fluently  cursed  Torpenhow  because  he  was 
alive,  and  all  the  world  because  it  was  alive 
and  could  see,  while  he,  Dick,  was  dead  in  the 
death  of  the  blind,  who,  at  the  best,  are  only 
burdens  upon  their  associates.  Torpenhow  had 
said  something  about  a  Mrs.  Gummidge,  and 
Dick  had  retired  in  a  black  fury  to  handle  and 
rehandle  three  unopened  letters  from  Maisie. 

The  Nilghai,  fat,  burly,  and  aggressive,  was 
in  Torpenhow's  rooms.  Behind  him  sat  the 
Keneu,  the  Great  War  Eagle,  and  between 
them  lay  a  large  map  embellished  with  black- 
and  white-headed  pins. 

"  I  was  wrong  about  the  Balkans,"  said  the 
Nilghai.     "  But    I'm    not    wrong    about    this 


The  Light  that  Failed      21'^ 

business.  The  whole  of  our  work  in  the 
Southern  Soudan  must  be  done  over  again. 
The  public  doesn't  care,  of  course,  but  the 
government  does,  and  they  are  making  their 
arrangements  quietly.  You  know  that  as  well 
as  I  do." 

"  I  remember  how  the  people  cursed  us  when 
our  troops  withdrew  from  Omdurman.  It  was 
bound  to  crop  up  sooner  or  later.  But  I  can't 
go,"  said  Torpenhow.  He  pointed  through 
the  open  door.  It  was  a  hot  night.  *'  Can 
you  blame  me  .'*  " 

The  Keneu  purred  above  his  pipe,  like  a 
large  and  very  happy  cat. 

"  Don't  blame  you  in  the  least.  It's  un- 
commonly good  of  you,  and  all  the  rest  of  it, 
but  every  man — even  you,  Torp — must  consider 
his  work.  I  know  it  sounds  brutal,  but  Dick's 
out  of  the  race — down — gastados,  expended, 
finished,  done  for.  He  has  a  little  money  of 
his  own.  He  won't  starve,  and  you  can't  pull 
out  of  your  slide  for  his  sake.  Think  of  your 
own  reputation." 

"  Dick's  was  five  times  bigger  than  mine  and 
yours  put  together." 

"  That  was  because  he  signed  his  name  to 
everything  he  did.  It's  all  ended  now.  You 
must  hold  yourself  in  readiness  to  move  out. 
You  can  command  your  own  prices,  and  you 
do  better  work  than  any  three  of  us." 

"  Don't  tell  me  how  tempting  it  is.  I'll  stay 
here  to  look  after  Dick  for  awhile.  He's 
as    cheerful   as    a   bear   with     a   sore   head, 


214        The  Light  that  Failed 

but  I  think  he  likes  to  have  me  about 
him." 

The  Nilghai  said  something  uncompliment- 
ary on  soft-headed  fools  who  throw  away 
their  careers  for  other  fools.  Torpenhow 
flushed  angrily.  The  constant  strain  of  at- 
tendance on  Dick  had  worn  his  nerves  thin. 

"There  remains  a  third  fate,"  said  the 
Keneu,  thoughtfull3^  "  Consider  this,  and  be 
not  larger  fools  than  is  necessary.  Dick 
is — or  rather  was — an  able-bodied  man  of 
moderate  attractions  and  a  certain  amount  of 
audacity." 

"  Oho  !  "  said  the  Nilghai,  who  remembered 
an  affair  at  Cairo.  "  I  begin  to  see.  Torp, 
I'm  sorry." 

Torpenhow  nodded  forgiveness  :  "  You  were 
more  sorry  when  he  cut  you  out,  though.  Go 
on,  Keneu." 

"  I've  often  thought,  when  I've  seen  men  die 
out  in  the  desert,  that  if  the  news  could  be 
sent  through  the  world,  and  the  means  of  trans- 
port were  quick  enough,  there  would  be  one 
woman  at  least  at  each  man's  bedside." 

"There  would  be  some  mighty  quaint 
revelations.  Let  us  be  grateful  things  are  as 
they  are,"  said  the  Nilghai. 

"  Let  us  rather  reverently  consider  whether 
Torp's  three-cornered  ministrations  are  exactly 
what  Dick  needs  just  now.  What  do  you 
think  yourself,  Torp  ?  " 

"  I  know  they  aren't.  But  what  can 
I  do  ? " 


The  Light  that  Failed      215 

"Lay  the  matter  before  the  Board.  We  are 
all  Dick's  friends  here.  You've  been  most  in 
his  life." 

"  But  I  picked  it  up  when  he  was  off  his 
head." 

"  The  greater  chance  of  its  being  true.  I 
thought  we  should  arrive.     Who  is  she  ?  " 

Then  Torpenhow  told  a  tale  in  plain  words, 
as  a  special  correspondent  who  knows  how  to 
make  a  verbal //r^r/j-  should  tell  it.  The  men 
listened  without  interruption. 

"Is  it  possible  that  a  man  can  come  back 
across  the  years  to  his  calf-love?"  said  the 
Keneu.     "  Is  it  possible  ?  " 

"  I  give  the  facts.  He  says  nothing  about 
it  now,  but  he  sits  fumbling  three  letters  from 
her  when  he  thinks  I  am  not  looking.  What 
am  I  to  do?  " 

"  Speak  to  him,"  said  the  Nilghai. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Write  to  her — I  don't  know  her 
full  name,  remember — and  ask  her  to  accept 
him  out  of  pity.  I  believe  you  once  told  Dick 
you  were  sorry  for  him,  Nilghai.  You  remem- 
ber what  happened,  eh  ?  Go  into  the  bedroom 
and  suggest  full  confession  and  an  appeal  to 
this  Maisie  girl,  whoever  she  is.  I  honestly 
believe  he'd  try  to  kill  you  ;  and  the  blindness 
has  made  him  rather  muscular." 

"  Torpenhow's  course  is  perfectly  clear," 
said  the  Keneu.  "  He  will  go  to  Vitry-sur- 
Marne,  which  is  on  the  Bezieres-Landes  Rail- 
way— single  track  from  Tourgas.  The  Prus- 
sians shelled  it  out  in  '70  because  there  was 


2i6       The  Light  that  Failed 

a  poplar  on  the  top  of  a  hill  eighteen  hundred 
yards  from  the  church  spire.  There's  a  squad* 
ron  of  cavalry  quartered  there — or  ought  to  be. 
Where  this  studio  Torp  spoke  about  may  be  I 
cannot  tell.  That  is  Torp's  business.  I  have 
given  him  his  route.  He  will  dispassionately 
explain  the  situation  to  the  girl,  and  she  will 
come  back  to  Dick — the  more  especially  be- 
cause, to  use  Dick's  words,  '  there  is  noth- 
ing but  her  damned  obstinacy  to  keep  them 
apart.'" 

"And  they  have  four  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  a  year  between  'em.  Dick  never  lost 
his  head  for  figures,  even  in  his  delirium. 
You  haven't  the  shadow  of  an  excuse  for  not 
going,"  said  the  Nilghai. 

Torpenhow  looked  very  uncomfortable. 
*'  But  it's  absurd  and  impossible.  I  can't  drag 
her  back  by  the  hair." 

"  Our  business — the  business  for  which  we 
draw  our  money — is  to  do  absurd  and  impos- 
sible things — generally  with  no  reason  what- 
ever except  to  amuse  the  public.  Here  we 
have  a  reason.  The  rest  doesn't  matter.  I 
shall  share  these  rooms  with  the  Nilghai  until 
Torpenhow  returns.  There  will  be  a  batch  of 
unbridled  *  specials '  coming  to  town  in  a  little 
while,  and  these  will  serve  as  their  head- 
quarters. Another  reason  for  sending  Torpen- 
how away.  Thus  Providence  helps  those  who 
helps  others,  and " — here  the  Keneu  aban- 
doned his  measured  speech — "  we  can't  have 
you  tied  by  the  leg  to  Dick  when  the  trouble 


The  Light  that  Failed      217 

begins.  It's  your  only  chance  of  getting  away ; 
and  Dick  will  be  grateful.'* 

"  He  will — worse  luck  1  I  can  but  go  and 
try.  I  can't  conceive  a  woman  in  her  senses 
refusing  Dick." 

"  Talk  that  out  with  the  girl.  I  have  seen 
you  wheedle  an  angry  Madieh  woman  into 
giving  you  dates.  This  won't  be  a  tithe  as 
difficult.  You  had  better  not  be  here  to-mor- 
row afternoon,  because  the  Nilghai  and  I 
will  be  in  possession.     It  is  an  order.     Obey." 

"  Dick,"  said  Torpenhow,  next  morning, 
"  can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  " 

"  No  !  Leave  me  alone.  How  often  must 
[  remind  you  that  I'm  blind  ? " 

"  Nothing  I  could  go  for  to  fetch  for  to 
:arry  for  to  bring  ?  " 

*'  No.  Take  those  infernal  creaking  boots 
^f  yours  away.'' 

"  Poor  chap  !  "  said  Torpenhow  to  himself, 
'*I  must  have  been  sitting  on  his  nerves  lately. 
He  wants  a  lighter  step."  Then,  aloud, 
"Very  well.  Since  you're  so  independent, 
I'm  going  off  for  four  or  five  days.  Say  good- 
by  at  least.  The  housekeeper  will  look  after 
you,  and  Keneu  has  my  rooms." 

Dick's  face  fell.  "You  won't  be  longer 
than  a  week  at  the  outside.^  I  know  I'm 
touched  in  the  temper,  but  I  can't  get  on 
without  you.*' 

*^  Can't  you  ?  You'll  have  to  do  without  me 
in  a  little  time,  and  you'll  be  glad  I'm  gone.'* 

Dick  felt  his  way  back  to  the  big  chair,  and 


2i8       The  Light  that  Failed 

wondered  what  these  things  might  mean.  He 
did  not  wish  to  be  tended  by  the  housekeeper, 
and  yet  Torpenhow's  constant  tenderness 
jarred  on  him.  He  did  not  exactly  know 
what  he  wanted.  The  darkness  would  not 
lift,  and  Maisie's  unopened  letters  felt  worn 
and  old  from  much  handling.  He  could 
never  read  them  for  himself  as  long  as  life 
endured  ;  but  Maisie  might  have  sent  him 
some  fresh  ones  to  play  with.  The  Nilghai 
entered  with  a  gift — a  piece  of  red  modeling 
wax.  He  fancied  that  Dick  might  find  in- 
terest in  using  his  hands.  Dick  poked  and 
patted  the  stuff  for  a  few  minutes,  and,  *'  Is  it 
like  anything  in  the  world  ?  "  he  said,  drearily. 
"Take  it  away.  I  may  get  the  touch  of  the 
blind  in  fifty  years.  Do  you  know  where 
Torpenhow  has  gone  ?  " 

The  Nilghai  knew  nothing.  "  We're  staying 
in  his  rooms  till  he  comes  back.  Can  we  do 
anything  for  you  }  " 

"  I'd  like  to  be  left  alone,  please.  Don't 
think  I'm  ungrateful;  but  I'm  best  alone." 

The  Nilghai  chuckled,  and  Dick  resumed 
his  drowsy  brooding  and  sullen  rebellion 
against  fate.  He  had  long  since  ceased  to 
think  about  the  work  he  had  done  in  the  old 
days,  and  the  desire  to  do  more  work  had 
departed  from  him.  He  was  exceedingly 
sorry  for  himself,  and  the  completeness  of  his 
tender  grief  soothed  him.  But  his  soul  and 
his  body  cried  for  Maisie — Maisie,  who  would 
understand.       His    mind    pointed    out   that 


The  Light  that  Failed      219 

Maisie,  having  her  own  work  to  do,  would  not 
care.  His  experience  had  taught  him  that 
when  money  was  exhausted  women  went  away, 
and  that  when  a  man  was  knocked  out  of  the 
race  the  others  trampled  on  him,  "Then  at 
the  least,"  said  Dick,  in  reply,  "  she  could  use 
me  as  I  used  Dinat — for  some  sort  of  study. 
I  wouldn't  ask  more  than  to  be  near  her  again, 
even  though  I  knew  another  man  was  making 
love  to  her.     Ugh  !  what  a  dog  1  am  !  " 

A  voice  on  the  staircase  began  to  sing  joy- 
fully : 

"  When  we  go — go — go  away  from  here, 

Our  creditors  will  weep  and  they  will  wail, 
Our  absence   much    regretting   when  they  find   that 
we've  been  getting 
Out  of  England  by  next  Tuesday's  Indian  mail." 

Following  the  trampling  of  feet,  slamming 
of  Torpenhow's  door,  and  the  sound  of  voices 
in  strenuous  debate,  some  one  squeaked : 
"And  see,  you  good  fellows,  I  have  found  a 
new  water-bottle — first-class  patent — eh,  how 
you  say  ?     Open  himself  inside  out/' 

Dick  sprung  to  his  feet.  He  knew  the 
voice  well.  "That's  Cassavetti  come  back 
from  the  Continent.  Now  I  know  why  Torp 
went  away.  There's  a  row  somewhere,  and 
—I'm  out  of  it !  " 

The  Nilghai  commanded  silence  in  vain. 
"  That's  for  my  sake,"  Dick  said,  bitterly. 
"  The  birds  are  getting  ready  to  fly,  and  they 
wouldn't  tell  me.     I  can  hear  Morten-Suther- 


220      The  Light  that  Failed 

land  and  Mackaye.  Half  the  war  correspond- 
ents in  London  are  there — and  I'm  out  of  it." 

He  stumbled  across  the  landing  and 
plunged  into  Torpenhow's  room.  He  could 
feel  that  it  was  full  of  men.  "  Where's  the 
trouble  ?  "  said  he.  "  In  the  Balkans  at  last  ? 
Why  didn't  some  one  tell  me  ?  " 

'*  We  thought  you  wouldn't  be  interested," 
said  the  Nilghai,  shamefacedly.  *'  It's  in  the 
Soudan,  as  usual." 

"  You  lucky  dogs  !  Let  me  sit  here  while 
you  talk.  I  sha'n'tbe  a  skeleton  at  the  feast. 
Cassavetti,  where  are  you  ^  Your  English  is 
as  bad  as  ever.'' 

Dick  was  led  to  a  chair.  He  heard  the 
rustle  of  the  maps,  and  the  talk  swept  forward, 
carrying  him  with  it.  Everybody  spoke  at 
once,  discussing  press  censorships,  railway 
routes,  transport,  water  supply,  the  capacities 
of  generals — these  in  language  which  would 
have  horrified  a  trusting  public — ranting,  as- 
serting, denouncing,  and  laughing  at  the  top 
of  their  voices.  There  was  the  glorious  cer- 
tainty of  war  in  the  Soudan  at  any  moment. 
The  Nilghai  said  so,  and  it  was  well  to  be  in 
readiness.  The  Keneu  had  telegraphed  to 
Cairo  for  horses.  Cassavetti  had  stolen  a 
perfectly  inaccurate  list  of  troops  that  would 
be  ordered  forward,  and  was  reading  it  amid 
profane  interruptions,  and  the  Keneu  intro- 
duced to  Dick  some  man  unknown  who  would 
be  employed  as  war  artist  by  the  Central 
Southern   Syndicate.     "  It's  his   first  outing," 


The  Light  that  Failed      2231 

said  the  Keneu.  *'  Give  him  some  tips — 
about  riding  camels." 

"  Oh,  those  camels  !  "  groaned  Cassavetti. 
**  I  shall  learn  to  ride  him  again,  and  now  I 
am  so  much  all  soft!  Listen,  you  good 
fellows,  I  know  your  military  arrangement 
very  well.  There  will  go  the  Royal  Argal- 
shire  Sutherlanders.  So  it  was  read  to  me 
upon  best  authority." 

A  roar  of  laughter  interrupted  him. 

"Sit  down,"  said  the  Nilghai.  <'The 
lists  aren't  even  made  out  in  the  War 
Office." 

"  Will  there  be  any  force  at  Suakim  ? ''  ^aid 
a  voice. 

Then  the  outcries  redoubled,  and  grew 
mixed,  thus  :  "  How  many  Egyptian  troops 
will  they  use  ?  "  "  God  help  the  Fellaheen  i  " 
*'  There's  a  railway  in  Plumstead  marshes 
doing  duty  as  a  fives-court."  "  We  shall  have 
the  Suakim-Berber  line  built  at  last."  *'  Cana- 
dian voyagers  are  too  careful.  Give  me  a 
half-drunk  Krooman  in  a  whale-boat."  *'  Who 
commands  the  Desert  column  ?"  '*  No,  they 
never  blew  up  the  big  rock  in  the  Ghizeh  bend. 
We  shall  have  to  be  hauled  up,  as  usual." 
*'  Somebody  tell  me  if  there's  an  Indian  con- 
tingent, or  I'll  break  everybody's  head  ! '' 
"  Don't  tear  the  map  in  two  !  "  *'  It's  a  war 
of  occupation,  I  tell  you,  to  connect  with  the 
African  companies  in  the  South."  "There's 
Guinea  worm  in  most  of  the  wells  on  that 
the     Nilghai,    despairing   of 


222,       The  Light  that  Failed 


'^to 


peace,  bellowed  like  a  fog-horn  and  beat  upon 
the  table  with  both  hands. 

"  But  what  becomes  of  Torpenhow  ?  "  said 
Dick,  in  the  silence  that  followed. 

*' Torp's  in  abeyance  just  now.  He's  off 
love-making  somewhere,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
Nilghai. 

*'  He  said  he  was  going  to  stay  at  home," 
said  the  Keneu. 

"  Is  he  ?  "  said  Dick,  with  an  oath.  *'  He 
won't.  I'm  not  much  good  now,  but  if  you 
and  the  Nilghai  hold  him  down  I'll  engage  to 
trample  on  him  till  he  sees  reason.  He  stay 
behind,  indeed  !  He's  the  best  of  you  all. 
There'll  be  some  tough  work  by  Omdurman. 
We  shall  come  there  to  stay  this  time.  But  I 
forgot.     I  wish  I  were  going  with  you." 

"  So  do  we  all,  Dickie,"  said  the  Keneu. 

*'  And  I  most  of  all,"  said  the  new  artist  of 
the  Central  Southern  Syndicate.  "  Could  you 
tell  me " 

"  I'll  give  you  one  piece  of  advice,"  Dick 
answered,  moving  toward  the  door.  "  If  you 
happen  to  be  cut  over  the  head  in  a  scrim- 
mage, don't  guard.  Tell  the  man  to  go  on 
cutting.  You'll  find  it  cheapest  in  the  end. 
Thanks  for  letting  me  look  in." 

"  There's  grit  in  Dick,"  said  the  Nilghai, 
an  hour  later,  when  the  room  was  emptied  of 
all  save  the  Keneu. 

"  It  was  the  sacred  call  of  the  war  trumpet 
Did  you  notice  how  he  answered  to  it .?  Poor 
fellow  !     Let's  look  at  him,"  said  the  Keneu» 


The  Light  that  Failed      223 

The  excitement  of  the  talk  had  died  away. 
Dick  was  sitting  by  the  studio  table,  with  his 
head  on  his  arms,  when  the  men  came  in. 
He  did  not  change  his  position. 

"  It  hurts,"  he  moaned.  "  God  forgive  me, 
but  it  hurts,  cruelly,  and  yet,  y'know,  the 
world  has  a  knack  of  spinning  round  all  by 
itself.     Shall  I  see  Torp  before  he  goes  ?  " 

''  Oh,  yes  1  You'll  see  him,"  said  the 
Nilghai. 


224       The  Light  that  Failed 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

But  I  shall  not  understand — 

Shall  not  see  the  face  of  my  love — 
Shall  not  know  her  for  whom  I  strove— 

Till  she  reach  me  forth  her  hand, 

Saying  "  Who  but  I  have  the  right  ?  '* 
And  out  of  a  troubled  night 

Shall  draw  me  safe  to  the  land. 

The  Widower^ 

"  Maisie,  come  to  bed." 

*'It's  so  hot  I  can't  sleep.  Don't  worry." 
Maisie  put  her  elbows  on  the  window-sill  and 
looked  at  the  moonlight  on  the  straight,  pop- 
lar-flanked road.  Summer  had  come  upon 
Vitry-sur-Marne  and  parched  it  to  the  bone. 
The  grass  was  dry-burned  in  the  meadows, 
the  clay  by  the  bank  of  the  river  was  caked  to 
brkk,  the  road-side  flowers  were  long  since 
dead,  and  the  roses  in  the  garden  hung  with- 
ered on  their  stalks.  The  heat  in  the  little  low 
bedroom  under  the  eaves  was  almost  intoler- 
able. The  very  moonlight  on  the  wall  of 
Kami's  studio  across  the  road  seemed  to  make 
the  night  hotter,  and  the  shadow  of  the  big 
bell  handle  by  the  closed  gate  cast  a  bar  of 
inky  black  that  caught  Maisie's  eye  and  an- 
noyed her. 

"Horrid  thing!     It   should    be   all  white," 
she  murmured.     '*  And  the  gate  isn't  in  the 


The  Light  that  Failed      225 

middle  of  the  wall,  either.  I  never  noticed 
that  before." 

Maisie  was  hard  to  please  at  that  hour. 
First,  the  heat  of  the  past  few  weeks  had  worn 
her  down  ;  secondly,  her  work,  and  particularly 
the  study  of  a  female  head  intended  to  rep^ 
resent  the  Melancolia,  and  not  finished  m 
time  for  the  Salon,  was  unsatisfactory  ;  thirdly, 
Kami  had  said  as  much  two  days  before ; 
fourthly,  but  so  completely  fourthly  that  it 
M^as  hardly  worth  thinking  about,  Dick,  her 
property,  had  not  written  to  her  for  more  than 
six  weeks.  She  was  angry  with  the  heat,  with 
Kami,  and  with  her  work,  but  she  was  exceed- 
ingly angry  with  Dick. 

She  had  written  to  him  three  times,  each 
time  proposing  a  fresh  treatment  of  her  Mel' 
ancolia.  Dick  had  taken  no  notice  of  these 
communications.  She  had  resolved  to  write 
no  more.  When  she  returned  to  England  in 
the  autumn — for  her  pride's  sake  she  could 
not  return  earlier — she  would  speak  to  him. 
She  missed  the  Sunday  afternoon  conferences 
more  than  she  cared  to  admit.  All  that 
Kami  said  was,  "  Coiitifiiiez^  mademoiselle^  con^ 
tinuez  tonjoitrs,'''  and  he  had  been  repeating 
his  wearisome  counsel  through  the  hot  sum- 
mer, exactly  like  a  cicala — an  old  gray  cicala 
in  a  black  alpaca  coat,  white  trousers,  and  a 
huge  felt  hat.  But  Dick  had  tramped  master- 
fully up  and  down  her  little  studio  north  of 
the  cool  green  London  park,  and  had  said 
things  ten  times  worse  than  "  continueZy^  be- 


2?6      The   Liglit  that  Failed 

tore  he  snatched  the  brush  out  of  her  hand 
and  showed  her  where  her  error  lay.  His  last 
letter.  Alaisie  remembered,  contained  some 
trivial  advice  about  not  sketching  in  the  sun 
or  drinking  water  at  way  side  farm-houses, 
and  he  had  said  that  not  once,  but  three  times, 
as  if  he  did  not  know  that  Maisie  could  take 
care  of  herself. 

But  what  was  he  doing  that  he  could  not 
trouble  to  write .''  A  murmur  of  voices  in  the 
road  made  her  lean  from  the  window.  A 
cavalryman  of  the  little  garrison  in  the  town 
was  talking  to  Kami's  cook.  The  moonlight 
glittered  on  the  scabbard  of  his  saber,  which 
he  was  holding  in  his  hand  lest  it  should  clank 
inopportunely.  The  cook's  cap  cast  deep 
shadows  on  her  face,  which  was  close  to  the 
conscript's.  He  slid  his  arm  round  her  waist, 
and  there  followed  the  sound  of  a  kiss. 

"  Faugh  !  "  said  jMaisie,  stepping  back. 

"What's  that?''  said  the  red-haired  girl, 
who  was  tossing  uneasily  outside  her  bed. 

"  Only  a  conscript  kissing  the  cook,"  said 
iVIaisie.  "They've  gone  away  now.'*  She 
leaned  out  of  the  window  again,  and  put  a 
shawl  over  her  night-gown  to  guard  against 
chills.  There  was  a  very  small  night  breeze 
abroad,  and  a  sun-baked  rose  below  nodded 
its  head  as  one  who  knew  unutterable  secrets. 
Was  it  possible  that  Dick  should  turn  his 
thoughts  from  her  work  and  his  own  and  de- 
scend to  the  degradation  of  Suzanne  and  the 
conscript?     He  could  not!     The  rose  nodded 


The  Light  that  Failed      227 

its  head  and  one  leaf  therewith.  It  lookec? 
like  a  naughty  little  devil,  scratching  its  ear. 
Dick  could  not,  "because,'*  thought  Maisie, 
"  he  is  mine — mine — mine.  He  said  he  was. 
I'm  sure  I  don't  care  what  he  does.  It  will 
only  spoil  his  work  if  he  does  ;  and  it  will 
spoil  mine  too.'* 

The  rose  continued  to  nod  in  the  futile  way 
peculiar  to  flowers.  There  was  no  earthly 
reason  why  Dick  should  not  disport  himself 
as  he  chose,  except  that  he  was  called  by  Prov- 
idence, which  was  Maisie,  to  assist  Maisie  in 
her  work.  And  her  work  was  the  preparation 
of  pictures  that  went  sometimes  to  English 
provincial  exhibitions,  as  the  notices  in  the 
scrap-book  proved,  and  were  invariably  re- 
jected by  the  Salon  when  Kami  was  plagued 
into  allowing  her  to  send  them  up.  Her  work 
in  the  future,  it  seemed,  would  be  the  prepa- 
ration of  pictures  on  exactly  similar  lines  which 
would  be  rejected  in  exactly  the  same  way. 

The  red-haired  girl  threshed  distressfully 
across  the  sheets.  "  It's  too  hot  to  sleep," 
she  moaned  ;  and  the  interruption  jarred. 

Exactly  the  same  way.  Then  she  would 
divide  her  years  between  the  little  studio  in 
England  and  Kami's  big  studio  at  Vitry-sur- 
Marne.  No  ;  she  would  go  to  another  master, 
who  should  force  her  into  the  success  that  was 
her  right,  if  patient  toil  and  desperate  endeavor 
gave  one  a  right  to  anything.  Dick  had  told 
her  that  he  had  worked  ten  years  to  under- 
stand his  craft.     She  had  worked  ten  years, 


228      The  Lidit  that  Failed 


& 


and  ten  years  were  nothing.  Dick  had  said  that 
ten  years  were  nothing — but  that  was  in  regard 
to  herself  only.  He  had  said — this  very  man 
who  could  not  find  time  to  write — that  he 
would  wait  ten  years  for  her,  and  that  she 
was  bound  to  come  back  to  him  sooner  or  later. 
He  had  said  this  in  the  absurd  letter  about 
sunstroke  and  diphtheria ;  and  then  he  had 
stopped  writing.  He  was  wandering  up  and 
down  moonlit  streets,  kissing  cooks.  She 
would  like  to  lecture  him  now — not  in  her 
night-gown,  of  course,  but  properly  dressed — 
severely  and  from  a  height.  Yet  if  he  was 
kissing  other  girls,  he  certainly  w^ould  not  care 
whether  she  lectured  him  or  not.  He  would 
iaugh  at  her.  Very  good.  She  would  go 
back  to  her  studio  and  prepare  pictures  that 
went,  etc.,  etc.  The  mill-wheel  of  thought 
swung  round  slowly,  that  no  section  of  it  might 
be  slurred  over,  and  the  red-haired  girl  tossed 
and  turned  behind  her. 

Maisie  put  her  chin  in  her  hands  and  de- 
cided that  there  could  be  no  doubt  whatever 
of  the  villainy  of  Dick.  To  justify  herself, 
she  began,  unwomanly,  to  weigh  the  evidence. 
There  was  a  boy,  and  he  had  said  he  loved 
her.  And  he  kissed  her — kissed  her  on  the 
cheek — by  a  yellow  sea-poppy  that  nodded  its 
head  exactly  like  the  maddening  dry  rose  in 
the  garden.  Then  there  was  an  interval  and 
men  had  told  her  that  they  loved  her — just 
when  she  was  busiest  with  her  work.  Then 
the  boy  came  back,  and  at  their  very  second 


The  Light  that  Failed      529 

meeting  had  told  her  that  he  loved  her.  Then 
he  had — •  But  there  was  no  end  to  the  things  he 
had  done.  He  had  given  her  his  time  and  his 
powers.  He  had  spoken  to  her  of  art,  house- 
keeping,  technique,  teacups,  the  abuse  of 
pickles  as  a  stimulant — that  was  rude — sable 
hair  brushes — he  had  given  her  the  best  in 
her  stock — she  used  them  daily  ;  he  had  given 
her  advice  that  she  profited  by,  and  now  and 
again — a  look.  Such  a  look.  The  look  of  a 
beaten  hound  waiting  for  the  word  to  crawl 
to  his  mistress's  feet.  In  return  she  had 
given  him  nothing  whatever,  except — here 
she  brushed  her  mouth  against  the  open- 
work sleeve  of  her  night-gown — the  privilege 
of  kissing  her  once.  And  on  the  mouth, 
too. 

Disgraceful !  Was  that  not  enough,  and 
more  than  enough  ?  And  if  it  was  not,  had 
he  not  canceled  the  debt  by  not  writing  and  — 
probably  kissing  other  girls  ? 

"  Maisie,  you'll  catch  a  chill.  Do  go  and 
lie  down,*'  said  the  wearied  voice  of  her  com- 
panion. "I  can't  sleep  a  wink  with  you  at 
the  window." 

Maisie  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  did  not 
answer.  She  was  reflecting  on  the  meanness 
of  Dick  and  other  meannesses  with  which  he 
had  nothing  to  do.  The  remorseless  moon- 
light would  not  let  her  sleep.  It  lay  on  the 
skylight  of  the  studio  across  the  road  in  cold 
silver,  and  she  stared  at  it  intently,  and  her 
thoughts  began  to   slide  one  into  the  other. 


230       The  Light  that  Failed 

The  shadow  of  the  big  bell  handle  in  the  wall 
grew  short,  lengthened  again,  and  faded  out 
as  the  moon  went  down  behind  the  pasture 
and  a  hare  came  limping  home  across  the  road. 
Then  the  dawn  wind  washed  through  the  up- 
land grasses,  and  brought  coolness  with  it,  and 
the  cattle  lowed  by  the  drought-shrunk  river. 
Maisie's  head  fell  forward  on  the  window-sill, 
and  the  tangle  of  black  hair  covered  the 
arms. 

*'  Maisie,  wake  up.     You'll  catch  a  chill !  " 

"  Yes,  dear  ;  yes,  dear."     She  staggered  to 

her  bed  like  a  wearied  child,  and  as  she  buried 

her  face  in  the  pillows  she  muttered,  "  I  think 

— I  think —  But  he  ought  to  have  written." 

Day  brought  the  routine  of  the  studio,  the 
smell  of  paint  and  turpentine,  and  the  monot- 
onous wisdom  of  Kami,  who  was  a  leaden 
artist,  but  a  golden  teacher  if  the  pupil  were 
only  in  sympathy  with  him.  Maisie  was  not 
in  sympathy  that  day,  and  she  waited  im- 
patiently for  the  end  of  the  work.  She  knew 
when  it  was  coming;  for  Kami  would  gather 
his  black  alpaca  coat  into  a  bunch  behind  him, 
and,  with  faded  blue  eyes  that  saw  neither 
pupils  nor  canvas,  look  back  into  the  past  to 
recall  the  history  of  one  Binat.  *'  You  have 
all  done  not  so  badly,"  he  would  say.  *'  But 
you  shall  remember  that  it  is  not  enough  to 
have  the  method,  and  the  art,  and  the  power, 
nor  even  that  which  is  touch,  but  you  shall 
have  also  the  conviction  that  nails  the  work  to 
the  wall.     Of  the  so  many  I  have  taught " — ■ 


The  Light  that  Failed       231 

here  the  students  would  begin  to  unfix  draw- 
ing-pins or  get  their  tubes  together — "  the  very 
so  many  that  I  have  taught,  the  best  was  Binat. 
All  that  comes  of  the  study  and  the  work  and 
the  knowledge  was  to  him  even  when  he  came. 
After  he  left  me  he  should  have  done  all  that 
could  be  done  with  the  color,  the  form,  and 
the  knowledge.  Only,  he  had  not  the  convic- 
tion. So  to-day  I  hear  no  more  of  Binat — 
the  best  of  my  pupils — and  that  is  long  ago. 
So  to-day,  too,  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  no 
more  of  me.  Conthiuez,  inesde77wiselles^  and, 
above  all,  with  conviction." 

He  went  into  the  garden  to  smoke  and 
mourn  over  the  lost  Binat  as  the  pupils  dis- 
persed to  their  several  cottages  or  loitered  in 
the  studio  to  make  plans  for  the  cool  of  the 
afternoon. 

Maisie  looked  at  her  very  unhappy  Melan- 
colia,  restrained  a  desire  to  grimace  before  it, 
and  was  hurrying  across  the  road  to  write  a 
letter  to  Dick  when  she  was  aware  of  a  large 
man  on  a  white  troop  horse.  How  Torpen- 
how  had  managed,  in  the  course  of  twenty 
hours,  to  find  his  way  to  the  heart  of  the 
cavalry  officers  in  quarters  at  Vitry-sur-Marne, 
to  discuss  with  them  the  certainty  of  a  glorious 
revanche  for  France,  to  reduce  the  colonel  to 
fears  of  pure  affability,  and  to  borrow  the  best 
horse  in  the  squadron  for  the  journey  to  Kami's 
studio,  is  a  mystery  that  only  special  corre- 
spondents can  unravel. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he.     "  It  seems 


232       The  Light  that  Failed 

an  absurd  question  to  ask,  but  the  fact  is  that 
I  don't  know  her  by  any  other  name.  Is  there 
any  young  lady  here  that  is  called  Maisie  ?  " 

*^  i  am  Maisie,"  was  the  answer  from  the 
depths  of  a  great  sun-hat. 

"  I  ought  to  introduce  myself,"  he  said,  as 
the  horse  capered  in  the  blinding  white  dust. 
-*  My  name  is  Torpenhow.  Dick  Heldar  is 
my  best  friend,  and — and — the  fact  is  that  he 
has  gone  blind." 

"  Blind  !  "  said  Maisie,  stupidly.  *'  He  can't 
be  blind." 

"  He  has  been  stone  blind  for  nearly  two 
months." 

Maisie  lifted  up  her  face,  and  it  was  pearly 
white.  "  No  !  No !  Not  blind !  I  won't 
have  him  blind  !  " 

*'  Would  you  care  to  see  for  yourself  ?  "  said 
Torpenhow. 

"  Now — at  once  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  no !  The  Paris  train  doesn't  go 
through  this  place  till  eight  to-night.  There 
will  be  ample  time." 

*' Did  Mr.  Heldar  send  you  to  me?" 

"  Certainly  not.  Dick  wouldn't  do  that  sort 
of  thing.  He's  sitting  in  his  studio  turning 
over  some  letters  that  he  can't  read  because 
he's  blind." 

There  was  a  sound  of  chokinsffrom  the  sun- 
hat.  Maisie  bowed  her  head  and  went  into 
the  cottao-e,  where  the  red-haired  girl  was  on  a 
sofa  complaining  of  a  headache. 

"  Dick's    blind,"    said    Maisie,  taking   her 


The  Light  that  Failed      ^y^ 

breath  quickly  as  she  steadied  herself  against 
a  chair-back.     "  My  Dick's  blind." 

"What?"  The  girl  was  on  the  sofa  no 
longer. 

"  A  man  has  come  from  England  to  tell  me. 
He  hasn't  written  to  me  for  six  weeks." 

"  Are  you  going  to  him  ? " 

"  I  must  think." 

*'  Think  !  I  should  go  back  to  London  and 
see  him,  and  I  should  kiss  his  eyes  and  kiss 
them  and  kiss  them  until  they  got  well  again  J 
If  you  don't  go  I  shall.  Oh,  what  am  I  talking 
about.'*  You  wicked  little  idiot!  Go  to  him 
at  once.      Go  !  " 

Torpenhow's  neck  was  blistering,  but  he  pre- 
served a  smile  of  infinite  patience  as  Maisie 
appeared  bareheaded  in  the  sunshine. 

**  I  am  coming,"  said  she,  her  eyes  on  the 
ground. 

*'  You  will  be  at  Vitry  Station,  then,  at  seven 
this  evening."  This  was  an  order  delivered  by 
one  who  was  used  to  being  obeyed.  Maisie 
said  nothing,  but  she  felt  grateful  that  there 
was  no  chance  of  disputing  with  this  big  man 
who  took  everything  for  granted  and  managed 
a  squealing  horse  with  one  hand.  She  re- 
turned to  the  red-haired  girl,  who  was  weeping 
bitterly,  and  between  tears,  kisses — very  few 
of  those — menthol,  packing,  and  an  interview 
with  Kami,  the  sultry  afternoon  wore  away. 
Thought  might  come  afterward.  Her  present 
duty  was  to  go  to  Dick — Dick  who  owned  the 


234       The  Light  that  Failed 

wondrous  friend  and  sat  in  the  dark  playing 
with  her  unopened  letters. 

*^  But  what  will  you  do  ?"  she  said  to  her 
companion. 

"I?  Oh,  I  shall  stay  here  and — finish 
your  Melancolia,"  she  said,  smiling  pitifully, 
*' Write  to  me  afterward." 

That  night  there  ran  a  legend  through  Vitry- 
sur-Marne  of  a  mad  Englishman,  doubtless 
suffering  from  sunstroke,  who  had  drunk  all 
the  officers  of  the  garrison  under  the  table, 
had  borrowed  a  horse  from  the  lines,  and  had 
then  and  there  eloped,  after  the  English  cus- 
tom, with  one  of  those  more  than  mad  English 
girls  who  drew  pictures  down  there  under  the 
care  of  that  good  M.  Kami. 

"  They  are  very  droll,"  said  Suzanne  to  the 
conscript  in  the  moonlight  by  the  studio  wall, 
"  She  walked  always  with  those  big  eyes  that 
saw  nothing,  and  yet  she  kisses  me  on  both 
cheeks  as  though  she  were  my  sister,  and  gives 
me — see — ten  francs." 

The  conscript  levied  a  contribution  on  both 
gifts ;  for  he  prided  himself  on  being  a  good 
soldier. 

Torpenhow  spoke  very  little  to  Maisie 
during  the  journey  to  Calais,  but  he  was  care- 
ful to  attend  to  all  her  wants,  to  get  her  a  com- 
partment entirely  to  herself,  and  to  leave  her 
alone.  He  was  amazed  at  the  ease  with  which 
the  matter  had  been  accomplished. 

"The  safest  thing  w-ould  be  to  let  her  think 
things  out.      By  Dick's  showing — when  he  was 


The  Light  that  Failed      235 

off  his  head — she  must  have  ordered  him  about 
very  thoroughly.  Wonder  how  she  Hkes  being 
under  orders." 

Maisie  never  told.  She  sat  in  the  empty 
compartment,  often  with  her  eyes  shut  that 
she  might  realize  the  sensation  of  blindness. 
It  was  an  order  that  she  should  return  to  Lon- 
don swiftly,  and  she  found  herself  at  last  almost 
beginning  to  enjoy  the  situation.  This  was- 
better  than  looking  after  trunks  and  a  red- 
haired  friend  who  never  seemed  to  take  any 
interest  in  her  surroundings.  But  there  seemed 
to  be  a  feeling  in  the  air  that  she,  Maisie,  of  all 
people,  was  in  disgrace.  Therefore  she  justi- 
lied  her  conduct  to  herself  with  great  success, 
till  Torpenhow  came  up  to  her  on  the  steamer 
and  without  preface  began  to  tell  the  story  of 
Dick's  blindness,  suppressing  a  few  details, 
but  dwelling  at  length  on  the  miseries  of  his 
delirium.  He  stopped  before  he  reached  the 
end,  as  though  he  had  lost  interest  in  the 
subject,  and  went  forward  to  smoke.  Maisie 
was  furious  with  him  and  with  herself. 

She  was  hurried  on  from  Dover  to  London 
almost  before  she  could  ask  for  breakfast, 
and — she  was  past  any  feeling  of  indignation 
now — was  bidden  curtly  to  wait  in  a  hall  at 
the  foot  of  some  lead-covered  stairs  while 
Torpenhow  went  up  to  make  inquiries. 
Again  the  knowledge  that  she  was  being 
treated  like  a  naughty  little  girl  made  her  pale 
cheeks  fiame.  It  was  all  Dick's  fault  for 
being  so  stupid  as  to  go  blind. 


^36       The  Light  that  Failed 

Torpenhow  led  her  up  to  a  shut  door,  which 
he  opened  very  softly.  Dick  was  sitting  by 
the  window  with  his  chin  on  his  chest.  There 
were  three  envelopes  in  his  hand,  and  he 
turned  them  over  and  over.  The  big  man 
who  gave  orders  was  no  longer  by  her  side, 
and  the  studio  door  snapped  behind  her. 

Dick  thrust  the  letters  into  his  pocket  as  he 
heard  the  sound,  *' Halloo,  Torp !  Is  that 
you?     I've  been  so  lonely." 

His  voice  had  taken  the  peculiar  flatness  of 
the  blind.  Maisie  pressed  herself  up  into  a 
corner  of  the  room.  Her  heart  was  beating 
furiously,  and  she  put  one  hand  on  her  breast 
to  keep  it  quiet.  Dick  was  staring  directly 
at  her,  and  she  realized  for  the  first  time  that 
he  was  blind.  Shutting  her  eyes  in  a  railway 
carriage  to  open  them  when  she  pleased  was 
child's  play.  This  man  was  blind  though  his 
eyes  were  wide  open. 

"  Torp,  is  that  you  ?  They  said  you  were 
coming."  Dick  looked  puzzled  and  a  little 
irritated  at  the  silence. 

"  No  ;  it's  only  me,"  was  the  answer,  in  a 
strained  little  whisper.  Maisie  could  hardly 
move  her  lips. 

"  H'm !  "  said  Dick,  composedly,  without 
moving.  "This  is  anew  phenomenon.  Dark- 
ness I'm  getting  used  to  ;  but  I  object  to 
hearing  voices." 

Was  he  mad,  then,  as  well  as  blind,  that 
he  talked  to  himself  ?  Maisie's  heart  beat 
more    wildly,     and    she   breathed   in   gasps. 


The  Light  that  Failed       237 

Dick  rose  and  began  to  feel  his  way  across 
the  room,  touching  each  table  and  chair  as  he 
passed.  Once  he  caught  his  foot  on  a  rug, 
and  swore,  dropping  on  his  knees  to  feel 
what  the  obstruction  might  be.  Maisie  re 
membered  him  walking  in  the  park  as  though 
all  the  earth  belonged  to  him,  tramping  up 
and  down  her  studio  two  months  ago,  and  fly- 
ing up  the  gangway  of  the  Channel  steamer. 
The  beating  of  her  heart  was  making  her  sick, 
and  Dick  was  coming  nearer,  guided  by  the 
sound  of  her  breathing.  She  put  out  a  hand 
mechanically  to  ward  him  off  or  to  draw  him 
to  herself,  she  did  not  know  which.  It 
touched  his  chest,  and  he  stepped  back  as 
though  he  had  been  shot. 

"It's  Maisie!"  said  he,  with  a  dry  sob. 
"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  I  came — I  came — to  see  you — please  !  *' 

Dick's  lips  closed  firmly. 

*'  Won't  you  sit  down,  then  ?  You  see,  I've 
had  some  bother  with  my  eyes,  and " 

"  I  know,  I  know.    Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"I  couldn't  write." 

*' You  might  have  told  Mr.  Torpenhow.'* 

"  What  has  he  to  do  with  my  affairs  ? " 

"  He — he  brought  me  from  Vitry-sur-Marne. 
He  thought  I  ought  to  see  you." 

"  Why,  what  has  happened  ?  Can  I  do 
anything  for  you  ?     No,  I  can't.     I  forgot. " 

'  *  Oh,  Dick,  I'm  so  sorry !  I've  come  to  tell 
you,  and^  Let  me  take  you  back  to  your 
chair.'* 


238       The  Light  that  Failed 

^'  Don't !  I'm  not  a  child.  You  only  do 
that  out  of  pity.  I  never  meant  to  tell  you 
anything  about  it.  I'm  no  good  now.  I'm 
down  and  done  for.      Let  me  alone  ! " 

He  groped  back  to  his  chair,  his  chest  labor- 
ing as  he  sat  down. 

Maisie  watched  him,  and  the  fear  went  out 
of  her  heart,  to  be  followed  by  a  very  bitter 
shame.  He  had  spoken  a  truth  that  had  been 
hidden  from  the  girl  through  every  step  of  the 
impetuous  flight  to  London  ;  for  he  was,  indeed, 
down  and  done  for — masterful  no  longer  but 
rather  a  little  abject ;  neither  an  artist  stronger 
than  she,  nor  a  man  to  be  looked  up  to — only 
some  blind  one  that  sat  in  a  chair  and  seemed 
on  the  point  of  crying.  She  was  immensely  and 
unfeignedly  sorry  for  him — more  sorry  than 
she  had  ever  been  for  any  one  in  her  life,  but 
not  sorry  enough  to  deny  his  words.  So  she 
stood  still  and  felt  ashamed  and  a  little  hurt, 
because  she  had  honestly  intended  that  her 
journey  should  end  triumphantly;  and  now 
she  was  only  filled  with  pity  most  startlingly 
distinct  from  love. 

''  Well  ?  '^  said  Dick,  his  face  steadily  turned 
away.  •'  I  never  meant  to  worry  you  any 
more.     What's  the  matter  ?  '* 

He  was  conscious  that  Maisie  was  catching 
her  breath,  but  was  as  unprepared  as  herself 
for  the  torrent  of  emotion  that  followed. 
People  who  cannot  cry  easily  weep  unrestrain- 
edly when  the  fountains  of  the  great  deep  are 
broken   up.     She   had  dropped    into   a  chair 


The  Light  that  Failed       239 

and  was  sobbing  with  her  face  hidden  in  her 
hands. 

"  I  can't — I  can't !  "  she  cried,  desperately, 
"  Indeed,  I  can't.  It  isn't  my  fault.  I'm  so 
sorry.     Oh,  Dickie,  I'm  so  sorry." 

Dick's  shoulders  straightened  again,  for  the 
words  lashed  like  a  whip.  Still  the  sobbing 
continued.  It  is  not  good  to  realize  that  you 
have  failed  in  the  hour  of  trial  or  flinched 
before  the  mere  possibility  of  making  sac- 
rifices. 

"  I  do  despise  myself — indeed  I  do.  But  I 
can't.  Oh,  Dickie,  you  wouldn't  ask  me — 
would  you  ?  "  wailed  ^laisie. 

She  looked  up  for  a  minute,  and  by  chance 
it  happened  that  Dick's  eyes  fell  on  hers. 
The  unshaven  face  was  very  white  and  set, 
and  the  lips  were  trying  to  force  themselves 
into  a  smile.  But  it  was  the  worn-out  eyes 
that  Maisie  feared.  Her  Dick  had  gone  blind 
and  left  in  his  place  some  one  that  she  could 
hardly  recognize  till  he  spoke. 

*'  Who  is  asking  you  to  do  anything,  Maisie  } 
I  told  you  how  it  would  be.  What's  the  use 
of  worrying?  For  pity's  sake  don't  cry  like 
that ;  it  isn't  worth  it." 

"  You  don't  know  how  I  hate  myself.  Oh, 
Dick,  help  me — help  me  !  "  The  passion  of 
tears  had  grown  beyond  her  control  and  was 
begmning  to  alarm  the  man.  He  stumbled 
forward  and  put  his  arm  round  her,  and  her 
head  fell  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Hush,    dear,    hush !     Don't  cry.     You^re 


240       The  Light  that  Failed 

quite  right,  and  you've  nothing  to  reproach 
yourself  with — you  never  had.  You're  only 
a  little  upset  by  the  journey,  and  I  don't  sup- 
pose you've  had  any  breakfast.  What  a  brute 
Torp  was  to  bring  you  over." 

"  I  wanted  to  come.  I  did  indeed,"  she 
protested. 

''Very  well.  And  now  you've  come  and 
seen,  and  I'm — immensely  grateful.  When 
you're  better  you  shall  go  away  and  get  some- 
thing to  eat.  What  sort  of  a  passage  did  you 
have  coming  over  ?  " 

Maisie  was  crying  more  subduedly,  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  glad  that  she  had  some- 
thing to  lean  against.  Dick  patted  her  on  the 
shoulder  tenderly  but  clumsily,  for  he  was  not 
quite  sure  where  her  shoulder  might  be. 

She  drew  herself  out  of  his  arms  at  last  and 
waited,  trembling  and  most  unhappy.  He  had 
felt  his  way  to  the  window  to  put  the  width  of 
the  room  between  them,  and  to  quiet  a  little 
the  tumult  in  his  heart. 

'*  Are  you  better  now  ?  "^  he  said. 

"Yes,  but — don't  you  hate  me  ?  " 

"  I  hate  you  ?     My  God  !     I  ?  " 

*'  Isn't — isn't  there  anything  I  could  do  for 
you,  then  .?  I'll  stay  here  in  England  to  do 
It,  if  you  like.  Perhaps  I  could  come  and  see 
you  sometimes." 

*'  I  think  not,  dear.  It  would  be  kindest 
not  to  see  me  any  more,  please.  I  don't  want 
to  seem  rude,  but — don't  you  think — perhaps 
you  had  almost  better  go  now.'* 


The  Light  that  Failed       241 

He  was  conscious  that  he  could  not  bear 
himself  as  a  man  if  the  strain  continued  much 
longer. 

"1  don't  deserve  anything  else.  I'll  go, 
Dick.     Oh,  I'm  so  miserable." 

*'  Nonsense.  You've  nothing  to  worry 
about ;  I'd  tell  you  if  you  had.  Wait  a  mo- 
ment, dear.  I've  got  something  to  give  you 
first.  I  meant  it  for  you  ever  since  this  little 
trouble  began.  It's  my  Melancolia  ;  she  was 
a  beauty  when  I  last  saw  her.  You  can  keep 
her  for  me,  and  if  ever  you're  poor  you  can 
sell  her.  She's  worth  a  few  hundreds  at  any 
state  of  the  market."  He  groped  among  his 
canvases.  "  She's  framed  in  black.  Is  this  a 
black  frame  that  I  have  my  hand  on  ?  There 
she  is.     What  do  you  think  of  her?  " 

He  turned  a  scarred  formless  muddle  of 
paint  toward  Maisie,  and  the  eyes  strained  as 
though  they  would  catch  her  wonder  and  sur- 
prise. One  thing  and  one  thing  only  could 
she  do  for  him. 

*'  Well  ? " 

The  voice  was  fuller  and  more  rounded,  be- 
cause the  man  knew  he  was  speaking  of  his 
best  work.  Maisie  looked  at  the  blur,  and  a 
lunatic  desire  to  laugh  caught  her  by  the 
throat.  But  for  Dick's  sake — whatever  this 
mad  blankness  might  mean — she  must  make 
no  sign.  Her  voice  choked  with  hard-held 
tears  as  she  answered,  still  gazing  on  the 
wreck — 

"Oh,  Dick,  it  IS  good  \" 
16 


242       The  Light  that  Failed 

He  heard  the  little  hysterical  gulp  and  took 
it  for  tribute.  "  Won't  you  have  it,  then  1  I'll 
send  It  over  to  your  house  if  you  will." 

"  I  ?  Oh  yes— thank  you.  Ha  !  ha  !  "  If 
she  did  not  liy  at  once  the  laughter  that  was 
worse  than  tears  would  kill  her.  She  turned 
and  ran,  choking  and  blinded,  down  the  stair- 
cases that  were  empty  of  life  to  take  refuge 
in  a  cab  and  go  to  her  house  across  the  Parks. 
There  she  sat  down  in  the  almost  dismantled 
drawing-room  and  thought  of  Dick  in  his 
blindness,  useless  till  the  end  of  life,  and  of 
herself  in  her  own  eyes.  Behind  the  sorrow, 
the  shame,  and  the  humiliation,  lay  fear  of  the 
cold  wrath  of  the  red  haired  girl  when  Maisie 
should  return.  Maisie  had  never  feared  her 
companion  before.  Not  until  she  found  her- 
self saying,  "  Well,  he  never  asked  me,"  did 
she  realize  her  scorn  of  herself. 

And  that  is  the  end  of  Maisie. 

For  Dick  was  reserved  more  searching  tor- 
ment. He  could  not  realize  at  first  that  Maisie, 
whom  he  had  ordered  to  go,  had  left  him  with- 
out a  word  of  farewell.  He  was  savagely  angry 
against  Torpenhow,  who  had  brought  upon 
him  this  humiliation  and  troubled  his  miser- 
able peace.  Then  his  dark  hour  came  and  he 
was  alone  with  himself  and  his  desires  to  get 
what  help  he  could  from  the  darkness.  The 
queen  could  do  no  wrong,  but  in  following  the 
right,  so  far  as  it  served  her  work,  she  had 
wounded  her  one  subject  more  than  his  own 
brain  would  let  him  know. 


The  Light  that  Failed       243 

"  It's  all  I  had  and  I've  lost  it,"  he  said,  as 
soon  as  the  misery  permitted  clear  thinking. 
*'  And  Torp  will  think  that  he  has  been  so 
infernally  clever  that  I  shan't  have  the 
heart  to  tell  him.  I  must  think  this  out 
quietly." 

•'Hullo!"  said  Torpenhow,  entering  the 
studio  after  Dick  had  enjoyed  two  hours  of 
thought.  "  I'm  back.  Are  you  feeling  any 
better  .?  " 

"  Torp,  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  Come 
here."  Dick  coughed  huskily,  wondering,  in- 
deed, what  he  should  say,  and  how  to  say  it 
temperately. 

"  What's  the  need  for  saying  anything  ? 
Get  up  and  tramp."  Torpenhow  was  perfectly 
satisfied. 

They  walked  up  and  down  as  of  custom, 
Torpenhow's  hand  on  Dick's  shoulder,  and 
Dick  buried  in  his  own  thoughts. 

"  How  in  the  world  did  you  find  it  all  out  ?  " 
said  Dick  at  last. 

"  You  shouldn't  go  off  your  head  if  you  want 
to  keep  secrets,  Dickie.  It  was  absolutely 
impertinent  on  my  part ;  but  if  you'd  seen  me 
rocketing  about  on  a  half-trained  French  troop- 
horse  under  a  blazing  sun  you'd  have  laughed. 
There  will  be  a  charivari  in  my  rooms  to-night. 
Seven  other  devils — " 

"  I  know — the  row  in  the  Southern  Soudan. 
I  surprised  their  councils  the  other  day,  and 
it  made  me  unhappy.  Have  you  fixed  your 
flint  to  go  ?     Who  d'you  work  for  ?  " 


244       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  Haven't  signed  any  contracts  yet.  I 
wanted  to  see  how  your  business  would  turn 
out." 

"  Would  you  have  stayed  with  me,  then,  if 
• — things  had  gone  wrong  ? ''  He  put  his  ques- 
tion cautiously. 

*'  Don't  ask  me  too  much.     I'm  only  a  man." 

"  You've  tried  to  be  an  angel  very  success- 
fully." 

"  Oh  ye — es  !  ,  .  .  Well,  do  you  attend  the 
function  to-night?  We  shall  be  half  screwed 
before  the  morning.  All  the  men  believe  the 
war's  a  certainty." 

''  I  don't  think  I  will,  old  man,  if  it's  all  the 
same  to  you.     I'll  stay  quiet  here." 

'*  And  meditate  ?  I  don't  blame  you.  You 
deserve  a  good  time  if  ever  a  man  did," 

That  night  there  was  tumult  on  the  stairs. 
The  correspondents  poured  in  from  theater, 
dinner,  and  music-hall  to  Torpenhow's  room 
that  they  might  discuss  their  plan  of  campaign 
in  the  event  of  military  operations  being  a 
certainty.  Torpenhow,  the  Keneu,  and  the 
Nilghai  had  bidden  all  the  men  they  had 
worked  with  to  the  orgy  ;  and  Mr.  Beeton,  the 
housekeeper,  declared  that  never  before  in  his 
checkered  experience  had  he  seen  quite  such 
a  fancy  lot  of  gentlemen.  They  walked  the 
chambers  with  shoutings  and  song  ;  and  the 
elder  men  were  quite  as  bad  as  the  younger. 
For  the  chances  of  war  were  in  front  of  them, 
and  all  knew  what  those  meant. 

Sitting  in  his  own  room,  a  little  perplexed 


The  Light  that  Failed       245 

by  the  noise  across  the  landing,  Dick  sud- 
denly began  to  laugh  to  himself. 

"  When  one  comes  to  think  of  it  the  situa- 
tion is  intensely  comic.  Maisie's  quite  right 
— poor  little  thing.  I  didn't  know  she  could 
cry  like  that  before  ;  but  now  1  know  what 
Torp  thinks,  I'm  sure  he'd  be  quite  fool 
enough  to  stay  at  home  and  try  to  console  me — 
if  he  knew.  Besides,  it  isn't  nice  to  own  that 
you've  been  thrown  over  like  a  broken  chair. 
I  must  carry  this  business  through  alone — as 
usual.  If  there  isn't  a  war,  and  Torp  finds 
out,  I  shall  look  foolish,  that's  all.  If  there 
is  a  war  I  mustn't  interfere  with  another  man's 
chances.  Business  is  business,  and  I  want 
to  be  alone — I  want  to  be  alone.  What  a  row 
they're  making ! " 

Somebody  hammered  at  the  studio  door. 

"  Come  out  and  frolic,  Dickie,"  said  the 
Nilghai. 

"I  should  like  to,  but  I  can't.  I'm  not 
feeling  frolicsome." 

"Then  I'll  tell  the  boys  and  they'll  draw 
you  like  a  badger." 

"  Please  not,  old  man.  On  my  word,  I'd 
sooner  be  left  alone  just  now.'' 

"  Very  good.  Can  we  send  anything  in  to 
you  ?  Fizz,  for  instance.  Cassavetti  is  be- 
ginning to  sing  songs  of  the  Sunny  South 
already." 

For  one  minute  Dick  considered  the  prop- 
osition seriously. 

*'  No,  thanks.     IVe  a  headache  already." 


246       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  Virtuous  child.  That's  the  effect  of  emo- 
tion  on  the  young.  All  my  congratulations, 
Dick.  I  also  was  concerned  in  the  conspiracy 
for  your  welfare.' 

"  Go  to  the  devil  and — oh,  send  Binkie  in 
here." 

The  little  dog  entered  on  elastic  feet,  riotous 
from  having  been  made  much  of  all  the  even- 
ing. He  had  helped  to  sing  the  choruses  ; 
but  scarcely  inside  the  studio  he  realized  that 
this  was  no  place  for  tail-wagging,  and  settled 
himself  on  Dick's  lap  till  it  was  bedtime. 
Then  he  went  to  bed  with  Dick,  who  counted 
every  hour  as  it  struck,  and  rose  in  the  morning 
with  a  painfully  clear  head  to  receive  Tor- 
penhow's  more  formal  congratulations  and 
a  particular  account  of  the  last  night's 
revels. 

"  You  aren't  looking  very  happy  for  a  newly- 
accepted  man,"  said  Torpenhow. 

"  Never  mind  that — it's  my  own  affair,  and 
I'm  all  right.     Do  you  really  go?" 

"Yes.  With  the  old  Central  Southern  as 
usual.  They  wired  and  I  accepted  on  better 
terms  than  before.'" 

"  When  do  you  start  ?  '* 

"The  day  after  to-morrow — for  Brindisi. " 

"  Thank  God."  Dick  spoke  from  the  bot- 
tom of  his  heart. 

"Well,  that's  not  a  pretty  v;ay  of  saying 
you're  glad  to  get  rid  of  me.  But  men  in  your 
condition  are  allowed  to  be  selfish." 

"I    didn't    mean    that.       Will    you    get    a 


The  Light  that  Failed       247 

hundred  pounds  cashed  for  me  before  you 
leave  ?  " 

"That's  a  slender  amount  for  housekeeping, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

**  Oh,  it's  only  for — marriage  expenses." 

Torpenhow  brought  him  the  money,  counted 
it  out  in  fives  and  tens,  and  carefully  put  it 
away  in  the  writing-table. 

'*  Now  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  listen  to 
his  ravings  about  his  girl  until  I  go.  Heaven 
send  us  patience  with  a  man  in  love  !  "  said 
he  to  himself. 

But  never  a  word  did  Dick  say  of  Maisie  or 
marriage.  He  hung  in  the  doorway  of  Tor- 
penhow's  room  when  the  latter  was  packing 
and  asked  innumerable  questions  about  the 
coming  campaign,  till  Torpenhow  began  to 
feel  annoyed. 

"  You're  a  secretive  animal,  Dickie,  and  you 
consume  your  own  smoke,  don't  you } "  he 
said  on  the  last  evening. 

"  I — I  suppose  so.  By  the  way,  how  long 
do  you  think  this  war  will  last  ?  " 

"  Days,  weeks,  or  months.  One  can  never 
tell.     It  may  go  on  for  years." 

"  I  wish  I  w^ere  going." 

*' Good  heavens!  You're  the  most  unac- 
countable creature  !  Hasn't  it  occurred  to  you 
that  you're  going  to  be  married — thanks  to 


me  t 


?" 


"  Of  course,  yes.  I'm  going  to  be  married 
— so  I  am.  Going  to  be  married.  I'm  awfully 
grateful  to  you.      Haven't  I  told  you  that .?  " 


248       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  You  might  be  going  to  be  hanged  by  the 
look  of  you,"  said  Terpen  how. 

And  the  next  day  Torpenhow  bade  him 
good-by,  and  left  him  to  the  loneliness  he  had 
so  much  desired. 


The  Light  that  Failed       249 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

f  et  at  the  last,  ere  our  spearmen  had  found  him 

Yet  at  the  last,  ere  a  sword-thrust  could  save, 
Vet  at  the  last,  with  his  masters  around  him, 

He  of  the  Faith  spoke  as  master  to  slave ; 
Vet  at  the  last,  tho'  the  Kafirs  had  maimed  him, 

Broken  by  bondage  and  wrecked  by  the  reiver,— 
Vet  at  the  last,  tho'  the  darkness  had  claimed  him, 

He  called  upon  Allah  and  died  a  believer. 

— KizilbashL 

*'  Beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Heldar,  but — but 
isn't  nothin' going  to  happen  ?  '^  said  Mr.  Bee* 
ton. 

"  No  !  "  Dick  had  just  waked  to  another 
morning  of  blank  despair  and  his  temper  was 
of  the  shortest. 

"  'Tain't  my  regular  business  o'  course,  sir  ; 
and  what  I  say  is,  '  Mind  your  own  business 
and  let  other  people  mind  theirs ' ;  but  just 
before  Mr.  Torpenhow  went  away  he  give  me 
to  understand,  like,  that  you  might  be  mov- 
ing into  a  house  of  your  own,  so  to  speak — a 
sort  of  house  with  rooms  up-stairs  and  down- 
stairs where  you'd  be  better  attended  to, 
though  I  try  to  act  just  by  all  our  tenants. 
Don't  I  .?  " 

"  Ah  !  That  must  have  been  a  mad-house. 
I  shan't  trouble  you  to  take  me  there  yet. 
Get  me  my  breakfast,  please,  and  leave  me 
alone." 


250       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  done  anything  wrong, 
sir,  but  you  know  I  hope  that  as  far  as  a  man 
can  I  tries  to  do  the  proper  thing  by  all  the 
gentlemen  in  chambers — and  more  particular 
those  whose  lot  is  hard — such  as  you,  for  in- 
stance, Mr.  Heldar.  You  likes  soft-roe  bloat- 
er, don^t  you  ?  Soft-roe  bloaters  is  scarcer 
than  hard-roe,  but  what  I  says  is,  'Never 
mind  a  little  extra  trouble  so  long  as  you  gives 
satisfaction  to  the  tenants.' " 

Mr.  Beeton  withdrew  and  left  Dick  to  him- 
self. Torpenhow  had  been  long  away ;  there 
was  no  more  rioting  in  the  chambers,  and 
Dick  had  settled  down  to  his  new  life,  which 
he  was  weak  enough  to  consider  nothing  bet- 
ter than  death. 

It  is  hard  to  live  alone  in  the  dark,  confus* 
ing  the  day  and  night ;  dropping  to  sleep 
through  sheer  weariness  at  midday,  and  rising 
restless  in  the  chill  of  the  dawn.  At  first 
Dick,  on  his  awakenings,  would  grope  along 
the  corridors  of  the  chambers  till  he  heard 
some  one  snore.  Then  he  would  know  that 
the  day  had  not  yet  come,  and  return  wearily  to 
his  bedroom.  Later  he  learned  not  to  stir  till 
there  was  a  noise  and  movement  in  the  house 
and  Mr.  Beeton  advised  him  to  get  up.  Once 
dressed — and  dressing,  now  that  Torpenhow 
was  away,  was  a  lengthy  business,  because 
collars,  ties,  and  the  like,  hid  themselves  in 
far  corners  of  the  room,  and  search  meant 
head-beating  against  chairs  and  trunks — once 
dressed,  there  was  nothing  whatever  to  do  ex- 


The  Light  that  Failed       251 

cept  to  sit  still  and  brood  till  the  three  daily 
meals  came.  Centuries  separated  breakfast 
from  lunch  and  lunch  from  dinner,  and  though 
a  man  prayed  for  hundreds  of  years  that  his 
mind  might  be  taken  from  him,  God  would 
never  hear.  Rather  the  mind  was  quickened 
and  the  rev^olving  thoughts  ground  against 
each  other  as  mill-stones  grind  when  there  is 
no  corn  between  ;  and  yet  the  brain  would 
not  wear  out  and  give  him  rest.  It  continued 
to  think,  at  length,  with  imagery  and  all  man- 
ner of  reminiscences.  It  recalled  Maisie  and 
past  success,  reckless  travels  by  land  and  sea, 
the  glory  of  doing  work  and  feeling  that  it 
was  good,  and  suggested  all  that  might  have 
happened  had  the  eyes  only  been  faithful  to 
their  duty.  When  thinking  ceased  through 
sheer  weariness,  there  poured  into  Dick's  soul 
tide  on  tide  of  overwhelming,  purposeless  fear 
— dread  of  starvation  always,  terror  lest  the 
unseen  ceiling  should  crush  down  upon  him, 
fear  of  fire  in  the  chambers  and  a  louse's 
death  in  red  flame,  and  agonies  of  fiercer  hor- 
ror that  had  nothing  to  do  with  any  fear  of 
death.  Then  Dick  bowed  his  head,  and 
clutching  the  arms  of  his  chair  fought  with 
his  sweating  self  till  the  tinkle  of  plates  told 
him  that  something  to  eat  was  being  set  be- 
fore him. 

Mr.  Beeton  would  bring  the  meal  when  he 
had  time  to  spare,  and  Dick  learned  to  hang 
upon  his  speech  which  dealt  with  badly-fitted 
gas-plugs,    waste-pipes    out    of    repair,    little 


252       The  Light  that  Failed 

tricks  for  driving  picture-nails  into  walls,  and 
the  sins  of  the  charwoman  or  the  housemaids. 
In  the  lack  of  better  things  the  small  gossip 
of  a  servant's  hall  becomes  immensely  inter- 
esting, and  the  screwing  of  a  washer  on  a  tap 
an  event  to  be  talked  over  for  days. 

Once  or  twice  a  week,  too,  Mr.  Beeton 
would  take  Dick  out  with  him  when  he  went 
marketing  in  the  morning  to  haggle  with  trades- 
men over  fish,  lamp-wicks,  mustard,  tapioca, 
and  so  forth,  while  Dick  rested  his  weight  first 
on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other  and  played 
aimlessly  with  the  tins  and  string-ball  on  the 
counter.  Then  they  would  perhaps  meet  one 
of  Mr.  Beeton's  friends,  and  Dick,  standing 
aside  a  little,  would  hold  his  peace  till  Mr. 
Beeton  was  willing  to  go  on  again. 

The  life  did  not  increase  his  self-respect, 
He  abandoned  shaving  as  a  dangerous  exer- 
cise, and  being  shaved  in  a  barber's  shop 
meant  exposure  of  his  infirmity.  He  could 
not  see  that  his  clothes  were  properly  brushed, 
and  since  he  had  never  taken  any  care  of  his 
personal  appearance  he  became  every  known 
variety  of  sloven.  A  blind  man  cannot  eat 
with  cleanliness  till  he  has  been  some  months 
used  to  the  darkness.  If  he  demand  attend- 
ance and  grow  angry  at  the  want  of  it,  he 
must  assert  himself  and  stand  upright.  Then 
the  meanest  menial  can  see  that  he  is  blind 
and,  therefore,  of  no  consequence.  A  wise 
man  will  keep  his  eyes  on  the  floor  and  sit 
still.     For  amusement  he  may  pick  coal  lump 


The  Light  that  Failed       253 

by  lump  out  of  the  scuttle  with  the  tongs  and 
pile  it  in  a  little  heap  in  the  fender,  keeping 
count  of  the  lumps,  which  must  all  be  put  back 
again,  one  by  one  and  very  carefully.  He 
may  set  himself  sums  if  he  cares  to  work  them 
out ;  he  may  talk  to  himself  or  to  the  cat  if 
she  chooses  to  visit  him;  and  if  his  trade  has 
been  that  of  an  artist,  he  may  sketch  in  the 
air  with  his  forefinger  ;  but  that  is  too  much 
like  drawing  a  pig  with  the  eyes  shut.  He 
may  go  to  his  bookshelves  and  count  his 
books,  ranging  them  in  order  of  their  size  ;  or 
to  his  wardrobe  and  count  his  shirts,  laying 
them  in  piles  of  two  or  three  on  the  bed,  as 
they  suffer  from  frayed  cuffs  or  lost  buttons. 
Even  this  entertainment  wearies  after  a  time; 
and  all  the  times  are  very,  very  long. 

Dick  was  allowed  to  sort  a  tool-chest 
where  Mr.  Beeton  kept  hammers,  taps  and 
nuts,  lengths  of  gas-pipes,  oil-bottles  and 
string. 

'*  If  I  don't  have  everything  just  where  I 
know  where  to  look  for  it,  why,  then,  I  can't 
find  anything  when  I  do  want  it.  You've  no 
idea,  sir,  the  amount  of  little  things  that  these 
chambers  uses  up,"  said  Mr.  Beeton.  Fum- 
bling at  the  handle  of  the  door  as  he  went  out : 
^*  It's  hard  on  you,  sir,  I  do  think  it's  hard 
on  you.  Ain't  you  going  to  do  anything, 
sir  ? " 

"  I'll  pay  my  rent  and  messing.  Isn't  that 
enough  ?  " 

"  I  wasn't  doubting  for  a  moment  that  you 


254       The  Light  that  Failed 

couldn't  pay  your  way,  sir ;  but  I  'ave  often 
said  to  my  wife,  '  It's  'ard  on  'im  because  it 
isn't  as  if  lie  was  an  old  man,  nor  yet  a  middle- 
aged  one,  but  quite  a  young  gentleman.  Thafs 
where  it  comes  so  'ard.'  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Dick,  absently.  This 
particular  nerve  through  long  battering  had 
ceased  to  feel — much. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  continued  Mr.  Beeton, 
still  making  as  if  to  go,  "  that  you  might  like 
to  hear  my  boy  Alf  read  you  the  papers  some- 
times of  an  evening.  He  do  read  beautiful, 
seeing  he's  only  nine." 

"  I  should  be  very  grateful,"  said  Dick. 
"  Only  let  me  make  it  worth  his  while." 

"  We  wasn't  thinking  of  that^  sir,  but  of 
course  it's  in  your  own  'ands;  but  only  to  'ear 
Alf  sing  'A  Boy's  best  Friend  is  'is  Mother! ' 
Ah  !  '' 

''  I'll  hear  him  sing  that  too.  Let  him  come 
in  this  evening  with  the  newspapers." 

Alf  was  not  a  nice  child,  being  puffed  up 
with  many  school-board  certificates  for  good 
conduct,  and  inordinately  proud  of  his  sing- 
ing. Mr.  Beeton  remained,  beaming,  while 
the  child  wailed  his  way  through  a  song  of 
some  eight  eight-line  verses  in  the  usual  whine 
of  the  young  Cockney,  and,  after  compliments, 
left  him  to  read  Dick  the  foreign  telegrams. 
Ten  minutes  later  Alf  returned  to  his  parents 
rather  pale  and  scared. 

"  'E  said  'e  couldn't  stand  it  no  more,"  he 
explained. 


The  Light  that  Failed       255 

"  He  never  said  you  read  badly,  Alf  ?  "  Mrs. 
Beeton  spoke. 

"  No.  'E  said  I  read  beautiful.  Said  *e 
never  'eard  any  one  read  like  that,  but  'e  said 
'e  couldn't  abide  the  stuff  in  the  papers." 

"P'raps  he's  lost  some  money  in  the  Stocks. 
Were  you  readin'  him  about  Stocks,  Alf  ?  '* 

"  No ;  it  was  all  about  fightin'  out  there 
where  the  soldiers  is  gone — a  great  long  piece 
with  all  the  lines  close  together  and  very  hard 
words  in  it.  'E  give  me  'arf  a  crown  because 
I  read  so  well.  And  'e  says  the  next  time 
there's  anything  'e  wants  read  'e'll  send  for 
me." 

''  That's  good  hearing,  but  I  do  think  for 
all  the  half-crown — put  it  into  the  kicking- 
donkey  money-box,  Alf,  and  let  me  see  you 
do  it — he  might  have  kept  you  longer.  Why, 
he  couldn't  have  begun  to  understand  how 
beautiful  you  read." 

"  He's  best  left  to  hisself — gentlemen 
always  are  when  they're  downhearted,"  said 
Mr.   Beeton. 

Alf's  rigorously  limited  powers  of  compre- 
hending Torpenhow's  special  correspondence 
had  waked  the  devil  of  unrest  in  Dick.  He 
could  hear,  through  the  boy's  nasal  chant, 
the  camels  grunting  in  the  squares  behind  the 
soldiers  outside  Suakin  ;  could  hear  the  men 
swearing  and  chaffing  across  the  cooking  pots, 
and  could  smell  the  acrid  wood-smoke  as  it 
drifted  over  the  camp  before  the  wind  of  the 
desert. 


256       The  Light  that  Failed 

That  night  he  prayed  to  God  that  his  mind 
might  be  taken  from  him,  offering  for  proof 
that  he  was  worthy  of  this  favor  the  fact  that 
he  had  not  shot  himself  long  ago.  That 
prayer  was  not  answered,  and  indeed  Dick 
knew  in  his  heart  of  hearts  that  only  a  linger- 
ing sense  of  humor  and  no  special  virtue  had 
kept  him  alive.  Suicide,  he  had  persuaded 
himself,  would  be  a  ludicrous  insult  to  the 
gravity  of  the  situation  as  well  as  a  weak-kneed 
confession  of  fear. 

"Just  for  the  fun  of  the  thing,"  he  said  to 
the  cat,  W'ho  had  taken  Binkie's  place  in  his 
establishment,  "I  should  like  to  know  how 
long  this  is  going;  to  last.  I  can  live  for  a 
year  on  the  hundred  pounds  Torp  cashed  for 
me.  I  must  have  two  or  three  thousand  at 
least  at  the  Bank — twenty  or  thirty  years  more 
provided  for,  that  is  to  say.  Then  I  fall  back 
on  ni}'  hundred  and  twenty  a  year  which  will 
be  more  by  that  time.  Let's  consider. 
Twenty-five — thirty-five — a  man's  in  his  prime 
then,  they  say — forty-five — a  middle-aged  man 
just  entering  politics — fifty-five — 'died  at  the 
comparatively  early  age  of  fifty-five,'  accord- 
ing to  the  newspapers.  Bah !  How  these 
Christians  funk  death  !  Sixty-five — we're  only 
getting  on  in  years.  Seventy-five  is  just  pos- 
sible though.  Great  Hell,  cat  O  !  fifty  years 
more  of  solitary  confinement  in  the  dark! 
You'll  die,  and  Beeton  will  die,  and  Torp  will 
die,  and  Mai — everybody  else  will  die,  but  I 
shall  be  alive  and  kicking  with  nothing  to  do 


The  Light  that  Failed       257 

I'm  very  sorry  for  myself.  I  should  like  some 
one  else  to  be  sorry  for  me.  Evidently  I'm 
not  going  mad  before  I  die,  but  the  pain's  just 
as  bad  as  ever.  Some  day  when  you're  vivi- 
sected, cat  O!  they'll  tie  you  down  on  a  little 
table  and  cut  you  open — but  don't  be  afraid  ; 
they'll  take  precious  good  care  that  you  don't 
die.  You'll  live,  and  you'll  be  very  sorry  then 
that  you  weren't  sorry  for  me.  Perhaps  Torp 
will  come  back  or  ...  I  wish  I  could  go  to 
Torp  and  the  Nilghai,  even  though  I  were  in 
their  way." 

Pussy  left  the  room  before  the  speech  was 
ended,  and  Alf,  as  he  entered,  found  Dick  ad- 
dressing the  empty  hearth-rug. 

"  There's  a  letter  for  you,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  Perhaps  you'd  like  me  to  read  it. " 

"Lend  it  to  me  for  a  minute  and  I'll  tell 
you." 

The  outstretched  hand  shook  just  a  little 
and  the  voice  was  not  over-steady.  It  was 
within  the  limits  of  human  possibility  that — 
that  was  no  letter  from  Maisie.  He  knew  the 
heft  of  three  closed  envelopes  only  too  well. 
It  was  a  foolish  hope  that  the  girl  should  write 
to  him,  for  he  did  not  realize  that  there  is  a 
wrong  which  admits  of  no  reparation  though 
the  evildoer  may  with  tears  and  the  heart's 
best  love  strive  to  mend  all.  It  is  best  ta 
forget  that  wrong  whether  it  be  caused  or  en- 
dured, since  it  is  as  remediless  as  bad  work 
once  put  forward. 

*'  Read  it,  then,"  said  Dick,  and  Alf  began 
17 


258       The  Light  that  Failed 

intoning  according  to  the  rules  of  the  Board 
School — 

"  1  could  have  given  you  love,  I  could  have 
given  you  loyalty,  such  as  you  never  dreamed 
of.  Do  you  suppose  I  cared  what  you  were  ? 
But  you  choose  to  whistle  everything  down  the 
wind  for  nothing.  My  only  excuse  for  you  is 
that  you  are  so  young." 

"That's  all,"  he  said,  returning  the  paper 
to  be  dropped  into  the  fire. 

"What  was  in  the  letter?  "  asked  Mrs.  Bee- 
ton  when  Alf  returned. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  think  it  was  a  circular  or 
a  tract  about  not  whistlin'  at  everything  when 
you're  young." 

"  I  must  have  stepped  on  something  when  I 
was  alive  and  walking  about  and  it  has  bounced 
up  and  hit  me.  God  help  it,  whatever  it  is — 
unless  it  was  all  a  joke.  But  T  don't  know  any 
one  who'd  take  the  trouble  to  play  a  joke  on 
me.  .  .  .  Love  and  loyalty  for  nothing.  It 
sounds  tempting  enough.  I  wonder  whether 
1  have  lost  anything  really?" 

Dick  considered  for  a  long  time  but  could 
not  remember  when  or  how  he  had  put  him- 
self in  the  way  of  winning  these  trifles  at  a 
woman's  hands. 

Still,  the  letter  as  touching  on  matters  that 
he  preferred  not  to  think  about  stung  him  into 
a  fit  of  frenzy  that  lasted  for  a  day  and  night. 
When  his  heart  was  so  full  of  despair  that  it 
would  hold  no  more,  body  and  soul  together 
seemed  to  be  dropping  without  check  through 


The  Light  that  Failed       259 

the  darkness.  Then  came  fear  of  darkness, 
and  desperate  attempts  to  reach  the  light  again. 
But  there  was  no  light  to  be  reached.  When 
that  agony  had  left  him  sweating  and  breath- 
less, the  downward  flight  would  recommence 
till  the  gathering  torture  of  it  spurred  him  into 
another  fight  as  hopeless  as  the  first.  Fol- 
lowed some  few  minutes  of  sleep  in  which  he 
dreamed  that  he  saw.  Then  the  procession 
of  events  would  repeat  itself  till  he  was  utterly 
worn  out  and  the  brain  took  up  its  everlasting 
consideration  of  Maisie  and  might-have-beens. 

At  the  end  of  everything  Mr.  Beeton  came 
to  his  room  and  volunteered  to  take  him  out. 
"  Not  marketing  this  time,  but  we  we'll  go  into 
the  Parks  if  you  like.'* 

'*  Be  damned  if  I  do,'*  quoth  Dick.  "  Keep 
to  the  streets  and  walk  up  and  down.  I  like 
to  hear  the  people  round  me." 

This  was  not  altogether  true.  The  blind  in 
the  first  stages  of  their  infirmity  dislike  those 
who  can  move  with  a  free  stride  and  unlifted 
arms — but  Dick  had  no  earthly  desire  to  goto 
the  Parks.  Once  and  only  once  since  Maisie 
had  shut  the  door  he  had  gone  there  under 
Alf's  charge.  Alf  forgot  him  and  fished  for 
minnows  in  the  Serpentine  with  some  com- 
panions.  After  half  an  hour's  waiting  Dick, 
almost  weeping  with  rage  and  wrath,  caught  a 
passer-by  who  introduced  him  to  a  friendly 
policeman,  who  led  him  to  a  four-wheeler  op- 
posite the  Albert  Hall.  He  never  told  Mr. 
Beeton    of  Alf's    forgetfulness,    but.  .  .  this 


26o       The  Light  that  Failed 

was  not  the  manner  in  which  he  was  used  to 
walk  the  Parks  aforetime. 

*  What  streets  would  you  like  to  walk  down, 
then  ? "  said  Mr.  Beeton,  sympathetically. 
His  own  ideas  of  a  riotous  holiday  meant  pic- 
nicking on  the  grass  of  the  Green  Park  with 
his  family,  and  half  a  dozen  paper  bags  full  of 
food. 

*'  Keep  to  the  river/*  said  Dick,  and  they 
kept  to  the  river,  and  the  rush  of  it  was  in  his 
ears  till  they  came  to  Blackfriars  Bridge  and 
struck  thence  on  to  the  Waterloo  Road,  Mr. 
Beeten  explaining  the  beauties  of  the  scenery 
as  he  went  on. 

"  And  walking  on  the  other  side  of  the  pave- 
ment," said  he,  "unless  I'm  much  mistaken, 
is  the  young  woman  that  used  to  come  to  your 
rooms  to  be  drawed.  I  never  forgets  a  face 
and  I  never  remembers  a  name,  except  paying 
tenants,  o'  course  !  " 

*'  Stop  her,"  said  Dick.  "  It's  Bessie  Broke, 
Tell  her  I'd  like  to  speak  to  her  again.  Quick, 
man  1 " 

Mr.  Beeton  crossed  the  road  under  the  noses 
of  the  omnibuses  and  arrested  Bessie  then  on 
her  way  northward.  She  recognized  him  as 
the  man  in  authority  who  used  to  glare  at  her 
when  she  passed  up  Dick's  staircase,  and  her 
first  impulse  was  to  run. 

"  Wasn't  you  Mr.  Heldar's  model .? "  said 
Mr.  Beeton,  planting  himself  in  front  of  her. 
"  You  was.  He's  on  the  other  side  of  the  road 
and  he'd  like  to  see  you." 


The  Light  that  Failed       261 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Bessie,  faintly.  She  remem- 
bered— indeed  had  never  for  long  forgotten — 
an  affair  connected  with  a  newly-finished 
picture. 

'•  Because  he  has  asked  me  to  do  so,  and 
because  he's  most  particular  blind." 

"  Drunk  ?  " 

"  No.  'Orspital  blind.  He  can't  see. 
That's  him  over  there." 

Dick  was  leaning  against  the  parapet  of  the 
bridge  as  Mr.  Beeton  pointed  him  out — a  stub- 
bearded,  bowed  creature  wearing  a  dirty  ma- 
genta colored  neckcloth  outside  an  unbrushed 
coat.  There  was  nothing  to  fear  from  such 
an  one.  Even  if  he  chased  her,  Bessie  thought, 
he  could  not  follow  far.  She  crossed  over  and 
Dick's  face  lighted  up.  It  was  long  since  a 
woman  of  any  kind  had  taken  the  trouble  to 
speak  to  him. 

"  I  hope  you're  well,  Mr.  Heldar  ?  '*  said 
Bessie,  a  little  puzzled.  Mr.  Beeton  stood  by 
with  the  air  of  an  ambassador  and  breathed 
responsibly. 

"  I'm  very  well  indeed,  and,  by  Jove  !  I'm 
glad  to  see — hear  you,  I  mean,  Bess.  You 
never  thought  it  worth  while  to  turn  up  and 
see  us  again  after  you  got  your  money.  I 
don't  know  why  you  should.  Are  you  going 
anywhere  in  particular  just  now  ? " 

"  1  was  going  for  a  walk,"  said  Bessie. 

"  Not  the  old  business  ?  "  Dick  spoke  under 
his  breath. 

"  Lor,  no  !     I  paid  my  premium  " — Bessie 


262       The  Light  that  Failed 

was  very  proud  of  that  word — "  for  abarmaidj 
sleeping  in,  and  I'm  at  the  bar  now  quite  re- 
spectable-    Indeed  I  am." 

Mr  Beeton  had  no  special  reason  to  believe 
in  the  loftiness  of  human  nature.  Therefore 
he  dissolved  himself  like  a  mist  and  returned 
to  his  gas-plugs  without  a  word  of  apology. 
Bessie  watched  the  flight  with  a  certain  un- 
easiness ;  but  so  long  as  Dick  appeared  to  be 
ignorant  of  the  harm  that  had  been  done  to 
him.   .  .  . 

"  It's  hard  work  pulling  the  beer-handles," 
she  went  on,  "and  they've  got  one  of  them 
penny-in-the-slot  cash-machines,  so  if  you  get 
wrong  by  a  penny  at  the  end  of  the  day — but 
then  I  don't  believe  the  machinery  is  right. 
Do  you .? " 

"  I've  only  seen  it  work. — Mr.  Beeton." 

*  He's  gone." 

'■  I'm  afraid  I  must  ask  you  to  help  me 
home,  then.  Til  make  it  worth  your  while. 
You  see.'"  The  sightless  eyes  turned  toward 
her  and  Bessie  saw. 

"It  isn't  taking  you  out  of  your  way?"  he 
said,  hesitatingly.  "  I  can  ask  a  policeman  if 
it  is." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  come  on  at  seven  and  I'm 
off  at  four.     That's  easy  hours." 

"  Good  God  ! — but  I'm  on  all  the  time.  I 
wish  I  had  some  work  to  do  too.  Let's  go 
home,  Bess." 

He  turned  and  cannoned  into  a  man  on  the 
sidewalk,  recoiling  with  an  oath.     Bessie  took 


The  Light  that  Failed       263 

his  arm  and  said  notliing — as  she  had  said 
nothing  when  he  had  ordered  her  to  turn  her 
face  a  little  more  to  the  light.  They  walked 
for  some  time  in  silence,  the  girl  steering  him 
deftly  through  the  crowd. 

"  And  Where's — where's  Mr.  Torpenhow  ?  " 
she  inquired  at  last. 

"  He  has  gone  away  to  the  desert." 

"  Where's  that  ?  " 

Dick  pointed  to  the  right.  "  East — out  of 
the  mouth  of  the  river,"  said  he.  "  Then  west, 
then  south,  and  then  east  again,  all  along  the 
under-side  of  Europe.  Then  south  again,  God 
knows  how  far."  The  explanation  did  not 
enlighten  Bessie  in  th(  least,  but  she  held  her 
tongue  and  looked  to  Dick's  path  till  they 
came  to  the  chambers, 

'•  We'll  have  tea  and  muffins,"  he  said,  joy- 
ously. "  I  can't  tell  you  Bessie,  how  glad  I 
am  to  find  you  again.  \A'hat  made  you  go 
away  so  suddenly  ?  " 

"  1  didn't  think  you'd  want  me  any 
more,"  she  said,  emboldened  by  his  igno- 
rance. 

"  I  didn't  as  a  matter  of  fact — but  afterward 
— At  any  rate  I'm  glad  you've  come.  You 
know  the  stairs." 

So  Bessie  led  him  home  to  his  own  place — 
there  was  no  one  to  hinder — and  shut  the  door 
of  the  studio. 

"  What  a  mess  !  "  was  her  first  word.  "  All 
these  things  haven't  been  looked  after  for 
months  and  months." 


264       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  No,  only  weeks,  Bess.  You  can't  expect 
them  to  care." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  expect  them  to  do. 
They  ought  to  know  what  you've  paid  them 
for.  The  dust's  just  awful.  It's  all  over  the 
easel." 

*'  I  don't  use  it  much  now." 

**  All  over  the  pictures  and  the  floor,  and  all 
over  your  coat.  I'd  like  to  speak  to  them 
housemaids. '' 

'*  Ring  for  tea,  then."  Dick  felt  his  way 
to  the  one  chair  he  used  by  custom. 

Bessie  saw  the  action  and,  as  far  as  in  her 
lay,  was  touched.  But  there  remained  always 
a  keen  sense  of  new-found  superiority,  and  it 
was  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke. 

"How  long  have  you  been  like  this?"  she 
said,  wrathfully,  as  though  the  blindness  were 
some  fault  of  the  housemaids. 

"How?" 

*' As  you  are." 
■     "  The  day  after  you  went  away   with  the 
check,  almost  as  soon  as  my  picture  was  fin- 
ished ;  I  hardly  saw  her  alive." 

*'  Then  they've  been  cheating  you  ever 
since,  that's  all.  I  know  their  nice  little 
ways." 

A  woman  may  love  one  •  man  and  despise 
another,  but  on  general  feminine  principles 
she  will  do  her  best  to  save  the  man  she  de- 
spises from  being  defrauded.  Her  loved  one 
can  look  to  himself,  but  the  other  man,  being 
obviously  an  idiot,  needs  protection. 


The  Light  that  Failed       265 

'•I  don't  think  Mr.  Beeton  cheats  much," 
said  Dick.  Bessie  was  flouncing  up  and 
down  the  room,  and  he  was  conscious  of  a 
keen  sense  of  enjoyment  as  he  heard  the 
swish  of  her  skirts  and  the  light  step  between. 

"Tea  ^;2<^  muffins,"  she  said,  shortly,  when 
the  ring  at  the  bell  was  answered  ;  "two  tea- 
spoonfuls  and  one  over  for  the  pot.  I  don't 
want  the  old  teapot  that  was  here  when  I  used 
to  come.     It  don't  draw.     Get  another." 

The  housemaid  went  away  scandalized,  and 
Dick  chuckled.  Then  he  began  to  cough  as 
Bessie  banged  up  and  dov^^n  the  studio  dis- 
turbing the  dust. 

"  What  are  you  trying  to  do  ?  " 

"Put  things  straight.  This  is  like  unfur- 
nished lodgings.  How  could  you  let  it  go 
so  .? " 

'*  How  could  I  help  it  ?     Dust  away." 

She  dusted  furiously,  and  in  the  midst  of 
all  the  pother  entered  Mrs.  Beeton.  Hei 
husband  on  his  return  had  explained  the  situ- 
ation, winding  up  with  the  peculiarly  felicitous 
proverb,  "  Do  unto  others  as  you  would  be 
done  by."  She  had  descended  to  put  into 
her  place  the  person  who  demanded  muffins 
and  an  uncracked  teapot  as  though  she  had 
a  right  to  both. 

*'  Muff.ns  ready  yet?"  said  Bess,  still  dust- 
ing. She  was  no  longer  a  drab  of  the  streets 
but  a  young  lady  who,  thanks  to  Dick's  check, 
had  paid  her  premium  and  was  entitled  to 
pull  beerhandles  with  the  best.      Being  neatly 


266       The  Light  that  Failed 

dressed  in  black  she  did  not  hesitate  to  face 
Mrs.  Beeton,  and  there  passed  between  the 
two  women  certain  regards  that  Dick  would 
have  appreciated.  The  situation  adjusted 
itself  by  eye.  Bessie  had  won,  and  Mrs. 
Beeton  returned  to  cook  muffins  and  make 
scathing  remarks  about  models,  hussies,  trol- 
lops, and  the  like,  to  her  husband. 

''  There's  nothing  to  be  got  of  interfering 
with  him,  'Liza,"  he  said.  "  Alf,  you  go  along 
into  the  street  to  play.  When  he  isn't  crossed 
he's  as  kindly  as  kind,  but  when  he's  crossed 
he's  the  devil  and  all.  We  took  too  many 
little  things  out  of  his  room  since  he  was 
blind  to  be  that  particular  about  what  he  does. 
They  ain't  no  objects  to  a  blind  man,  of 
course,  but  if  it  was  to  come  into  court  we'd 
get  the  sack.  Yes,  I  did  introduce  him  to 
that  girl  because  I'm  a  feelin'  man  my- 
self." 

"  Much  too  feelin' ! "  Mrs.  Beeton  slapped 
the  muffins  into  the  dish,  and  thought  of 
comely  housemaids  long  since  dismissed  on 
suspicion. 

"  I  ain't  ashamed  of  it,  and  it  isn't  for  us 
to  judge  him  hard  so  long  as  he  pays  quiet 
and  regular  as  he  do.  I  know  how  to  manage 
young  gentlemen,  you  know  how  to  cook  for 
them,  and  what  I  says  is,  let  each  stick  to  his 
own  business  and  then  there  won't  be  any 
trouble.  Take  them  muffins  down,  Liza,  and 
be  sure  you  have  no  words  with  that  young 
woman.     His   lot  is  cruel  hard,  and  if  he's 


The  Light  that  Failed       267 

crossed  he  do  swear  worse  than  any  one  I've 
ever  served." 

"That's  a  little  better,"  said  Bessie,  sitting 
down  to  the  tea.  "You  needn't  wait,  thank 
you,  Mrs.  Beeton." 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  doing  such,  I  do 
assure  you.^' 

Bessie  made  no  answer  whatever.  This, 
she  knew,  was  the  way  in  which  real  ladies 
routed  their  foes,  and  when  one  is  a  barmaid 
at  a  first-class  public-house  one  may  become 
a  real  lady  at  ten  minutes'  notice. 

Her  eyes  fell  on  Dick  opposite  her  and  she 
was  both  shocked  and  displeased.  There 
were  droppings  of  food  all  down  the  front  of 
his  coat ;  the  mouth  under  the  ragged  ill-grown 
beard  drooped  sullenly  ;  the  forehead  was 
lined  and  contracted ;  and  on  the  lean  tem- 
ples the  hair  was  a  dusty  indeterminate  color 
that  might  or  might  not  have  been  called  gray. 
The  utter  misery  and  self-abandonment  of  the 
man  appealed  to  her,  and  at  the  bottom  of 
her  heart  lay  the  wicked  feeling  that  he  was 
humbled  and  brought  low  who  had  once 
humbled  her. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  good  to  hear  you  moving  about," 
said  Dick,  rubbing  his  hands.  "Tell  us  all 
about  your  bar  successes,  Bessie,  and  the  way 
you  live  now," 

"  Never  mind  that.  I'm  quite  respectable, 
as  you'd  see  by  looking  at  me.  You  don't 
seem  to  live  too  well.     What  made  you   go 


268       The  Light  that  Failed 

blind  that  sudden  ?     Why  isn't  there  any  one 
to  look  after  you  ?  " 

Dick  was  too  thankful  for  the  sound  of  her 
voice  to  resent  the  tone  of  it. 

"  I  was  cut  across  the  head  a  long  time  ago, 
and  that  ruined  my  eyes.  I  don't  suppose 
anybody  thinks  it  worth  while  to  look  after 
me  any  more.  Why  should  they  ? — and  Mr. 
Beeton  really  does  everything  I  want." 

*'  Don't  you  know  any  gentlemen  and  ladies, 
then,  while  you  was — well  ?  " 

*'  A  few,  but  I  don't  care  to  have  them  look- 
at  me." 

I   suppose   that's    why  you've  growed    a 
beard.      Take  it  off,  it  don't  become  you." 

"  Good  gracious,  child,  do  you  imagine  that 
I  think  of  what  becomes  me  these  days  ? " 

"  You  ought.  Get  that  taken  off  before  I 
come  here  again.  I  suppose  1  can  come,  can't 
I?"         , 

''  I'd  be  only  too  grateful  if  you  did.  I 
don't  think  I  treated  you  very  well  in  the  old 
days.     I  used  to  make  you  angry." 

"  Very  angry,  you  did." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  it,  then.  Come  and  see  me 
when  you  can  and  as  often  as  you  can.  God 
knows,  there  isn't  a  soul  in  the  world  to  take 
that  trouble  except  you  and  Mr.  Beeton." 

"  A  lot  of  trouble  he's  taking  and  she  too." 
This  with  a  toss  of  the  head.  "They've  let 
you  do  anyhow  and  they  haven't  done  any- 
thing for  you.  I've  only  to  look  to  see  that 
much.     I'll  come,   and  I'll  be  glad   to  come, 


The  Light  that  Failed       269 

but  you  must  go  and  be  shaved,  and  you  must 
get  some  other  clothes — those  ones  aren't  fit 
to  be  seen." 

'*  I  have  heaps  somewhere,'*  he  said,  help- 
lessly. 

"  I  know  you  have.  Tell  Mr.  Beeton  to 
give  you  a  new  suit  and  I'll  brush  it  and  keep 
it  clean.  You  may  be  as  blind  as  a  barn- 
door, Mr.  Heldar,  but  it  doesn't  excuse  you 
looking  like  a  sweep." 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  sweep,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry  for  you.  I'm  that  sorry  for 
you  ! "  she  cried,  impulsively,  and  took  Dick's 
hands.  Mechanically,  he  lowered  his  head  as 
if  to  kiss — she  was  the  only  woman  who  had 
taken  pity  on  him,  and  he  was  not  too  proud 
for  a  little  pity  now.     She  stood  up  to  go. 

*' Nothing  o' that  kind  till  you  look  more 
like  a  gentleman.  It's  quite  easy  when  you 
get  shaved  and  some  clothes." 

He  could  hear  her  drawing  on  her  gloves 
and  rose  to  say  good-by.  She  passed  be- 
hind him,  kissed  him  audaciously  on  the  back 
of  the  neck,  and  ran  away  as  swiftly  as  on  the 
day  when  she  had  destroyed  the  Melancolia. 

"To  think  of  me  kissing  Mr.  Heldar,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "  after  all  he's  done  to  me  and 
all !  Well,  I'm  sorry  for  him,  and  if  he  was 
shaved  he  wouldn't  be  so  bad  to  look  at, 
but  ,  .  .  Oh,  them  Beetons,  how  shameful 
they've  treated  him  !  I  know  Beeton 's  wear- 
ing his  shirt  on  his  back  to-day  just  as  well 
as  if  I'd  aired  it.     To-morrow,   I'll  see  .  .  . 


270       The  Light  that  Failed 

I  wonder  if  he  has  much  of  his  own.  It  might 
be  worth  more  than  the  bar — I  wouldn't  have 
to  do  any  work — and  just  as  respectable  if  no 
one  knew.'* 

Dick  was  not  grateful  to  Bessie  for  her 
parting  gift.  He  was  acutely  conscious  of  it 
in  the  nape  of  his  neck  throughout  the  night, 
but  it  seemed,  among  very  many  other  things, 
to  enforce  the  wisdom  of  getting  shaved.  He 
was  shaved  accordingly  in  the  morning,  and 
felt  the  better  for  it.  A  fresh  suit  of  clothes, 
white  linen,  and  the  knowledge  that  some  one 
in  the  world  said  that  she  took  an  interest  in 
his  personal  appearance,  made  him  carry  him- 
self almost  upright  ;  for  the  brain  was  re- 
lieved for  a  while  from  thinking  of  Maisie, 
who,  under  other  circumstances,  might  have 
given  that  kiss  and  a  million  others. 

"  Let  us  consider,"  said  he  after  lunch. 
*'  The  girl  can't  care,  and  it's  a  toss-up 
whether  she  comes  again  or  not,  but  if  money 
can  buy  her  to  look  after  me  she  shall  be 
bought.  Nobody  else  in  the  world  would  take 
the  trouble,  and  I  can  make  it  worth  her 
while.  She's  a  child  of  the  gutter  holding 
brevet  rank  as  a  barmaid;  so  she  shall  have 
everything  she  wants  if  she'll  only  come  and 
talk  and  look  after  me."  He  rubbed  his 
newly-shorn  chin  and  began  to  perplex  him- 
self with  the  thought  of  her  not  coming.  "  I 
suppose  I  did  look  rather  a  sweep,"  he  went 
on.  "  I  had  no  reason  to  look  otherwise.  I 
knew   things  dropped  on  my   clothes,  but  it 


The  Light  that  Failed       271 

didn't  matter.  It  would  be  cruel  if  she  didn't 
come.  She  must.  Maisie  came  once,  and 
that  was  enough  for  her.  She  was  quite  right 
She  had  something  to  work  for.  This  crea- 
ture has  only  beer-handles  to  pull,  unless  she 
has  deluded  some  young  man  into  keeping 
company  with  her.  Fancy  being  cheated  for 
the  sake  of  a  counter-jumper  !  We're  failing 
pretty  low." 

Something  cried  aloud  within  him  : — This 
will  hurt  more  than  anything  that  has  gone 
before.  It  will  recall  and  remind  and  suggest 
and  tantalize,  and  in  the  end  drive  you  mad. 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it !  *'  Dick  cried,  clench- 
ing his  hands  despairingly;  *'but,  good  heav- 
ens !  is  a  poor  blind  beggar  never  to  get  any- 
thing out  of  his  life  except  three  meals  a  day 
and  a  greasy  waistcoat .?    I  wish  she'd  come." 

Early  in  the  afternoon  time  she  came, 
because  there  Vv'as  no  young  man  in  her  life 
just  then,  and  she  thought  of  material  advan- 
tages which  would  allow  her  to  be  idle  for  the 
rest  of  her  days. 

"I  shouldn't  have  known  you,"  she  said, 
approvingly.  "  You  look  as  you  used  to  look 
— a  gentleman  that  was  proud  of  himself." 

*'  Don't  you  think  I  deserve  another  kiss 
then  ? "  said  Dick,  flushing  a  little. 

"  Maybe — but  you  won't  get  it  yet.  Sit 
down  and  let's  see  what  I  can  do  for  you.  I'm 
certain  sure  Mr.  Beeton  cheats  you,  now  that 
you  can't  go  through  the  housekeeping  books 
every  month.     Isn't  that  true  ?  " 


272       The  Light  that  Failed 

**  You'd  better  come  and  housekeep  for  me 
then,  Bessie." 

*'  'Couldn't  do  it  in  these  chambers — you 
know  that  as  well  as  I  do.'* 

*'  I  know,  but  we  might  go  somewhere  else, 
if  you  thought  it  worth  your  while." 

"I'd  try  to  look  after  you,  anyhow;  but  I 
shouldn't  care  to  have  to  work  for  both  of  us.'* 
This  was  tentative, 

Dick  laughed. 

*'  Do  you  remember  where  I  used  to  keep  my 
bank-book?  "  said  he.  "Torp  took  it  to  be 
balanced  just  before  he  went  away.  Look  and 
see," 

"  It  was  generally  under  the  tobacco-jar. 
Ahl" 

"Well?" 

"  Oh  I  Four  thousand  two  hundred  and  ten 
pounds  nine  shillings  and  a  penny  ?    Oh  my !  " 

"  You  can  have  the  penny.  That's  not  bad 
for  one  year's  work.  Is  that  and  a  hundred 
and  twenty  pounds  a  year  good  enough  ?" 

The  idleness  and  the  pretty  clothes  were  al- 
most within  her  reach  now,  but  she  must,  by  be- 
ing housewifely,  show  that  she  deserved  them. 

*'  Yes  ;  but  you'd  have  to  move,  and  if  we 
took  an  inventory  I  think  we'd  find  that  Mr. 
Beeton  has  been  prigging  little  things  out  of 
the  rooms  here  and  there.  They  don't  look  as 
full  as  they  used." 

"  Never  mind,  we'll  let  him  have  them.  The 
only  thing  I'm  particularly  anxious  to  take 
away  is  that  picture  I  used  you  for — when  you 


The  Light  that  Failed       273 

used  to  swear  at  me.  We'll  pull  out  of  this 
place,  Bess,  and  get  away  as  far  as  ever  we 
can." 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said,  uneasily. 

"  I  don't  know  where  I  can  go  to  get  away 
from  myself,  but  I'll  try,  and  you  shall  have 
all  the  pretty  frocks  that  you  care  for.  You'll 
like  that.  Give  me  that  kiss  now,  Bess.  Ye 
gods  1  it's  good  to  put  one's  arm  round  a 
woman's  waist  again." 

Then  came  the  fulfilment  of  the  prophecy 
within  the  brain.  If  his  arm  were  thus  round 
Maisie's  waist  and  a  kiss  had  just  been  given 
and  taken  between  them, — why  then.  .  .  . 
He  pressed  the  girl  more  closely  to  himself  be- 
cause the  pain  whipped  him.  She  was  won- 
dering how  to  explain  a  little  accident  to  the 
Melancolia.  At  any  rate,  if  this  man  really 
desired  the  solace  of  her  company — and  cer- 
tainly he  would  relapse  into  his  original 
slough  if  she  withdrew  it — he  would  not  be 
more  than  just  a  little  vexed.  It  would  be 
delightful  at  least  to  see  what  would  happen, 
and  by  her  teachings  it  was  good  for  a  man 
to  stand  in  certain  awe  of  his  companion. 

She  laughed  nervously,  and  slipped  out  of 
his  reach. 

"  I  shouldn't  worrit  about  that  picture  if  I 
was  you,'*  she  began,  in  the  hope  of  turning 
his  attention. 

*'  It's  at  the  back  of  all  my  canvases  some- 
where.    Find  it,  Bess  ;  you  know  it  as  well  as 
I  do." 
18 


274       The  Light  that  Failed 


"  I  know — but- 


"  But  what  ?  You've  wit  enough  to  manage 
the  sale  of  it  to  a  dealer.  Women  haggle 
much  better  than  men.  It  might  be  a  matter 
of  eight  or  nine  hundred  pounds  to — to  us. 
I  simply  didn't  like  to  think  about  it  for  a 
long  time.  It  was  mixed  up  with  my  life  so. — ■ 
But  we'll  cover  up  our  tracks  and  get  rid  of 
everything,  eh  ?  Make  a  fresh  start  from  the 
beginning,  Bess." 

Then  she  began  to  repent  very  much  indeed, 
because  she  knew  the  value  of  money.  Still, 
it  was  probable  that  the  blind  man  was  overes- 
timating the  value  of  his  work.  Gentlemen, 
she  knew,  were  absurdly  particular  about  their 
things.  She  giggled  as  a  nervous  housemaid 
giggles  when  she  tries  to  explain  the  breakage 
of  a  pipe. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  but  you  remember  I  was — 
I  was  angry  with  you  before  Mr.  Torpenhow 
went  away  ?  " 

*'  You  were  very  angry,  child  ;  and  on  my 
word  I  think  you  had  some  right  to  be." 

"  Then  I — but  are  you  sure  Mr.  Torpen- 
how didn't  tell  you?  " 

"  Tell  me  what  ?  Good  gracious,  what  are 
you  making  such  a  fuss  about  when  you  might 
just  as  well  be  giving  me  another  kiss." 

He  was  beginning  to  learn,  not  for  the  first 
time  in  his  experience,  that  kissing  is  a 
cumulative  poison.  The  more  you  get  of  it, 
the  more  you  want.  Bessie  gave  the  kiss 
promptly,  whispering,  as    she  did    so,  "  I  was 


The  Light  that  Failed       275 

so  angry  i  rubbed  out  that  picture  with  the 
turpentine.     You  aren't  angry,  are  you  ?  " 

"What?  Say  that  again."  The  man's 
hand  had  closed  on  her  wrist. 

"  1  rubbed  it  out  with  turps  and  the  knife," 
faltered  Bessie.  "  I  thought  you'd  only  have 
to  do  it  over  again.  You  did  do  it  over 
again,  didn't  you.?  Oh,  let  go  of  my  wrist; 
you're  hurting  me.^' 

"  Isn't  there  anything  left  of  the  thing." 

*'  N'nothing  that  looks  like  anything.  I'm 
sorr}' — I  didn't  know  you'd  take  on  about  it ; 
I  only  meant  to  do  it  in  fun.  You  aren't 
going  to  hit  me  ?  " 

''  Hit  you  !     No  !     Let's  think." 

He  did  not  relax  his  hold  upon  her  wrist  but 
stood  staring  at  the  carpet.  Then  he  shook 
his  head  as  a  young  steer  shakes  it  when  the 
lash  of  the  stock-whip  across  his  nose  warns 
him  back  to  the  path  to  the  shambles  that  he 
would  escape.  For  weeks  he  had  forced  him- 
self not  to  think  of  the  Melancolia,  because 
she  was  a  part  of  his  dead  life.  With  Bessie's 
return  and  certain  new  prospects  that  had 
developed  themselves  the  Melancolia — lovelier 
in  his  imagination  than  she  had  ever  been  on 
canvas — reappeared.  By  her  aid  he  might 
have  procured  more  money  wherewith  to 
amuse  Bess  and  to  forget  Maisie,  as  well  as 
another  taste  of  an  almost  forgotten  success. 
Now,  thanks  to  a  vicious  little  housemaid's 
folly,  there  was  nothing  to  look  for — not  even 
the   hope   that   he   might  some  day  take  an 


276       The  Light  that  Failed 

abiding  interest  in  the  housemaid.  Worst  of 
all,  he  had  been  made  to  appear  ridiculous  in 
Maisie's  eyes.  A  woman  will  forgive  the  man 
who  has  ruined  her  life's  work  so  long  as  he 
gives  her  love  :  a  man  may  forgive  those  who 
ruin  the  love  of  his  life,  but  he  will  never  for- 
give the  destruction  of  his  work. 

"  Tck — tck — tck,"  said  Dick,  between  his 
teeth,  and  then  laughed  softly.  "  It's  an 
omen,  Bessie,  and — a  good  many  things  con- 
sidered, it  serves  me  right  for  doing  what 
I  have  done.  By  Jove  !  that  accounts  for 
Maisies  running  away.  She  must  have 
thought  me  perfectly  mad — small  blame  to 
her!  The  whole  picture  ruined,  isn't  it  so? 
What  made  you  do  it  ?  " 

"Because  I  was  that  angry.  I'm  not  angry 
now — I'm  awful  sorry." 

*'  I  wonder. — It  doesn't  matter,  anyhow. 
"  I'm  to  blame  for  making  the  mistake.'* 

*'What  mistake  .?  " 

*'  Something  you  wouldn't  understand,  dear. 
Great  heavens  1  to  think  that  a  little  piece  of 
dirt  like  you  could  throw  me  out  of  my 
stride  ! "  Dick  was  talking  to  himself  as 
Bessie  tried  to  shake  off  his  grip  on  her  wrist. 

*' I  ain't  apiece  of  dirt,  and  you  shouldn't 
call  me  so  !  I  did  it  *cause  I  hated  you,  and 
I'm  only  sorry  now  'cause  you're — 'cause 
you're " 

*'  Exactly — because  I'm  blind.  There's  noth- 
ing like  tact  in  little  things." 

Bessie  began  to  sob.     She  did  not  like  be- 


The  Light  that  Failed        277 

ing  shackled  against  her  will ;  she  was  afraid 
of  the  blind  face  and  the  look  upon  it,  and 
was  sorry  too  that  her  great  revenge  had  only 
made  Dick  laugh. 

"  Don't  cry,"  he  said,  and  took  her  into  his 
arms.     "  You  only  did  what  you  thought  right." 

*'  I — I  ain't  a  little  piece  of  dirt,  and  if  you 
say  that  I'll  never  come  to  you  again." 

"  You  don't  know  what  you've  done  to  me. 
I'm  not  angry — indeed,  I'm  not.  Be  quiet  for 
a  minute." 

Bessie  remained  in  his  arms  shrinking, 
Dick's  first  thought  was  connected  with  Maisie, 
and  it  hurt  him  as  white-hot  iron  hurts  an  open 
sore. 

Not  for  nothing  is  a  man  permitted  to  ally 
himself  to  the  wrong  woman.  The  first  pang 
— the  first  sense  of  things  lost  is  but  the  pre- 
lude to  the  play,  for  the  very  just  Providence 
who  delights  in  causing  pain  has  decreed  that 
the  agony  shall  return,  and  that  in  the  m.idst 
of  keenest  pleasure.  They  know  this  pain 
equally  who  have/orsaken  or  been  forsaken  by 
the  love  of  their  life,  and  in  their  new  wives' 
arms  are  compelled  to  realize  it.  It  is  better 
to  remain  alone  and  suffer  only  the  misery  of 
being  alone  so  long  as  it  is  possible  to  find 
distraction  in  daily  work.  When  that  resource 
goes  the  man  is  to  be  pitied  and  left  alone. 

These  things  and  some  others  Dick  consid- 
ered while  he  was  holding  Bessie  to  his  heart. 

"Though  you  mayn't  know  it,"  he  said^ 
raising  his  head,  "  the  Lord  is  a  just  and  a 


278       The  Light  that  Failed 

terrible  God,  Bess  ;  with  a  very  strong  sense 
of  liumor.  Tt  serves  me  right — how  it  serves 
me  right !  Torp  could  understand  it  if  he  were 
here  ;  he  must  have  suffered  something  at 
your  hands,  child,  but  only  for  a  minute  or  so. 
I  saved  him.     Set  that  to  my  credit,  some  one." 

"  Let  me  go,"  said  Bess,  her  face  darkening, 
"  Let  me  go." 

"  All  in  good  time.  Did  you  ever  attend 
Sunday-school  ?  " 

"  Never.  Let  me  go,  I  tell  you ;  you're 
making  fun  of  me." 

"Indeed,  I'm  not.  I'm  making  fun  of 
myself.  .  .  .  Thus.  *  He  saved  others, 
himself  he  cannot  save.'  It  isn't  exactly  a 
school-board  text."  He  released  her  wrist, 
but  since  he  was  between  her  and  the  door, 
she  could  not  escape. 

"  What  an  enormous  amount  of  mischief 
one  little  woman  can  do  1 " 

"I'm  sorry;  I'm  awful  sorry  about  the 
picture." 

"  I'm  not.  I'm  grateful  to  you  for  spoiling 
it.  .  .  .  What  were  we  talking  about  be- 
fore you  mentioned  the  thing .''  " 

"  About  getting  away — and  money.  Me 
and  you  going  away." 

''  Of  course.  We  will  get  away — that  is  to 
say  I  will. " 

"  And  me  ?  " 

"You  shall  have  fifty  whole  pounds  fof 
spoiling  a  picture." 

"  Then  you  won't  ? " 


The  Light  that  Failed       279 

"  I'm  afraid  not,  dear.  Think  of  fifty  pounds 
for  pretty  things  all  to  yourself. " 

"  You  said  you  couldn't  do  anything  with- 
out me." 

"That  was  true  a  little  while  ago.  I'm 
better  now,  thank  you.     Get  me  my  hat." 

"  S'pose  I  don't  ?  " 

"  Beeton  will,  and  you'll  lose  fifty  pounds. 
That's  all.     Get  it." 

Bessie  cursed  under  her  breath.  She  had 
pitied  the  man  sincerely,  had  kissed  him  with 
almost  equal  sincerity,  for  he  was  not  unhand- 
some ;  it  pleased  her  to  be  in  a  way  and  for  a 
time  his  protector,  and  above  all  there  were 
four  thousand  pounds  to  be  handled  by  some 
one.  Now  through  a  slip  of  the  tongue  and 
a  little  feminine  desire  to  give  a  little,  not  too 
much,  pain  she  had  lost  the  money,  the  blessed 
idleness  and  the  pretty  things,  the  companion- 
ship, and  the  chance  of  looking  outwardly  as 
respectable  as  a  real  lady. 

"  Now  fill  me  a  pipe.  Tobacco  doesn't  taste, 
but  it  doesn't  matter,  and  I'll  think  things 
out.     What's  the  day  of  the  week,  Bess  .?  " 

'*  Tuesday." 

*'  Then  Thursday's  mail-day.  What  a  fool 
— what  a  blind  fool  I  have  been  !  Twenty- 
two  pounds  covers  my  passage  home  again. 
Allow  ten  for  additional  expenses.  We  must 
put  up  at  Madame  Binat's  for  old  sake's  sake. 
Thirty-two  pounds  altogether.  Add  a  hun- 
dred for  the  cost  of  the  last  trip — Gad,  won't 
Torp  stare  to  see  me ! — a  hundred  and  thirty- 


28o       The  Light  that  Failed 

two  leaves  seventy-eight  for  baksheesh — I  shall 
need  it — and  to  play  with.  What  are  you  cry- 
ing for,  Bess  ?  It  wasn't  your  fault,  child  ;  it 
was  mine  altogether.  Oh,  you  funny  little  opos- 
sum, mop  your  eyes  and  take  me  out !  I  want 
the  pass-book  and  the  check-book.  Stop  a 
minute.  Four  thousand  pounds  at  four  per 
eent. — that's  safe  interest — means  a  hundred 
and  sixty  pounds  a  year ;  one  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds  a  year — also  safe — is  two 
eighty,  and  two  hundred  and  eighty  pounds 
added  to  three  hundred  a  year  means  gilded 
luxury  for  a  single  woman.  Bess,  we'll  go  to 
the  bank." 

Richer  by  two  hundred  and  ten  pounds 
stored  in  his  money  belt,  Dick  caused  Bessie, 
now  thoroughly  bewildered,  to  hurry  from  the 
bank  to  the  P.  and  O.  offices,  where  he  ex- 
plained things  tersely. 

"  Port  Said,  single  first  ;  cabin  as  close  to 
the  baggage-hatch  as  possible.  What  ship's 
going? " 

" The  Colgoiig'"'  said  the  clerk. 

"  She's  a  wet  little  hooker.  Is  it  Tilbury 
and  a  tender,  or  Galleons  and  the  docks?" 

"Galleons.     Twelve-forty,  Thursday." 

"Thanks.  Change,  please.  I  can't  see 
very  well — will  you  count  it  into  my  hand  ?  " 

"''if  they  all  took  their  passages  like  that 
instead  of  talking  about  their  trunks,  life  would 
be  worth  something,"  said  the  clerk  to  his 
neighbor,  who  was  trying  to  explain  to  a  har- 
assed mother  of  many  that  condensed  milk  is 


The  Light  that  Failed       281 

just  as  good  for  babes  at  sea  as  daily  dairy. 
Being  nineteen  and  unmarried,  he  spoke  with 
conviction. 

"  We  are  now,"  quoth  Dick,  as  they  returned 
to  the  studio,  patting  the  place  where  his 
money  belt  covered  ticket  and  money,  "  be- 
yond the  reach  of  man,  or  devil,  or  woman — 
which  is  much  more  important.  I've  three 
little  aitairs  to  carry  through  before  Thursday, 
but  I  needn't  ask  you  to  help,  Bess.  Come 
here  on  Thursday  morning  at  nine,  \^'e'll 
breakfast,  and  you  shall  take  me  down  to 
Galleons  Station.'' 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 

"  Going  away  of  course.  What  should  I 
stay  for  ? " 

"  But  you  can't  look  after  yourself.'*  " 

"  I  can  do  anything.  I  didn't  realize  it  be- 
fore, but  I  can.  I've  done  a  great  deal  already. 
Resolution  shall  be  treated  to  one  kiss  if 
Bessie  doesn't  object."  Strangely  enough, 
Bessie  objected,  and  Dick  laughed.  "  I  sup- 
pose you're  right.  Well,  come  at  nine  the 
day  after  to-morrow  and  you'll  get  your 
money." 

"  Shall  r,  sure?" 

"  I  don't  bilk,  and  you  won't  know  w^hether 
I  do  or  not  unless  you  come.  Oh,  but  it's 
long  and  long  to  wait !  Good-by,  Bessie, — 
send  Beeton  here  as  you  go  out.'' 

The  housekeeper  came. 

"  What  are  all  the  fittings  of  my  rooms 
wc'th  ? "  said  Dick,  imperiously. 


282       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  'Tisn't  for  me  to  say,  sir.  Some  things 
is  very  pretty  and  some  is  wore  out  dreadful." 

"  I'm  insured  for  two  hundred  and  seventy." 

"Insurance  policies  is  no  criterion,  though 
I  don't  say " 

"  Oh,  damn  your  longwindedness  !  You've 
made  your  pickings  out  of  me  and  the  other 
tenants.  Why,  you  talked  of  retiring  and  buy- 
ing a  public-house  the  other  day.  Give  a 
straight  answer  to  a  straight  question." 

*'  Fifty,"  said  Mr.  Beeton,  without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation. 

"  Double  it ;  or  I'll  break  up  half  my  sticks 
and  burn  the  rest." 

He  felt  his  way  to  a  bookstand  that  sup- 
ported a  pile  of  sketch-books,  and  wrenched 
out  one  of  the  mahogany  pillars. 

"  That's  sinful,  sir,"  said  the  housekeeper, 
alarmed. 

"  It's  my  own.     One  hundred  or " 

"  One  hundred  it  is.  It'll  cost  me  three  and 
six  to  get  that  there  pilaster  mended." 

"  I  thought  so.  What  an  out-and-out  swin- 
dler you  must  have  been  to  spring  that  price 
at  once  !  " 

'*  I  hope  I've  done  nothing  to  dissatisfy  any 
of  the  tenants,  least  of  all  you,  sir." 

"  Never  mind  that.  Get  me  the  money  to- 
morrow, and  see  that  all  my  clothes  are  packed 
in  the  little  brown  bullock-trunk.      I'm  going." 

"  But  the  quarter's  notice  ?  " 

"  I'll  pay  forfeit.  Look  after  the  packing 
and  leave  me  alone." 


The  Light  that  Failed       283 

Mr.  Beeton  discussed  this  new  departure 
with  his  wife,  who  decided  that  Bessie  was  at 
the  bottom  of  it  all.  Her  husband  took  a  more 
charitable  view. 

"  It's  very  sudden — but  then  he  was  always 
sudden  in  his  ways.      Listen  to  him  now  !  " 

There  was  a  sound  of  chanting  from  Dick's 
room. 

"  We'll  never  come  back  any  more,  boys, 
We'll  never  come  back  any  more, 
We'll  go  to  the  deuce  on  any  excuse. 
And  never  come  back  no  more  ! 
Oh  say  we're  afloat  or  ashore,  boys. 
Oh  say  we're  afloat  or  ashore  ; 
But  we'll  never  come  back  any  more,  boys. 
We'll  never  come  back  no  more  1  " 

"  Mr.  Beeton  !  Mr.  Beeton  !  Where  the 
deuce  is  my  pistol  ?  " 

"  Quick,  he's  going  to  shoot  himself — 'avin' 
gone  mad  1  "  said  Mrs.  Beeton. 

Mr.  Beeton  addressed  Dick  soothingly,  but 
it  was  some  time  before  the  latter,  threshing 
up  and  down  his  bedroom,  could  realize  the 
intention  of  the  promises  to  "  find  everything 
to-morrow,  sir." 

"  Oh,  you  copper-nosed  old  fool — you  im- 
potent Academician ! "  he  shouted  at  last. 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  want  to  shoot  myself? 
Take  the  pistol  in  your  silly  shaking  hand  then. 
liyoii  touch  it,  it  will  go  off,  because  it's  loaded. 
It's  among  my  campaign-kit,  somewhere — in 
the  parcel  at  the  bottom  of  the  trunk." 

Long    ago    Dick   had   carefully    possessed 


284       The  Light  that  Failed 

himself  of  a  forty-pound  weight  field-equipment 
constructed  by  the  knowledge  of  his  own  ex- 
perience. It  was  this  put-away  treasure  that 
he  was  trying  to  find  and  rehandle.  Mr. 
Beeton  whipped  the  revolver  out  of  its  place 
on  the  top  of  the  package,  and  Dick  drove  his 
hand  among  the  khaki  coat  and  breeches,  the 
blue  cloth  leg-bands,  and  the  heavy  flannel 
shirts  doubled  over  a  pair  of  swan-neck  spurs. 
Under  these  and  the  water-bottlelay  a  sketch- 
book and  a  pigskin  case  of  stationery. 

"  These  we  don't  want ;  you  can  have  them, 
Mr.  Beeton.  Everything  else  I'll  keep.  Pack 
'em  on  the  top  right-hand  side  of  my  trunk. 
When  you've  done  that  come  into  the  studio 
with  your  wife.  I  want  you  both.  Wait  a 
minute  \  get  me  a  pen  and  a  sheet  of  note- 
paper." 

It  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  write  when  you 
cannot  see,  and  Dick  had  particular  reasons 
for  wishing  that  his  work  should  be  clear.  So 
he  began,  following  his  right  hand  with  his 
left :  "  *  The  badness  of  this  writing  is  because 
1  am  blind  and  cannot  see  my  pen, '  H'mph  ! 
— Even  a  lawyer  can't  mistake  that.  It  must 
be  signed,  I  suppose,  but  it  needn't  be  wit- 
nessed. Now  an  inch  lower — why  did  I  never 
learn  to  use  a  typewriter  ? — *  This  is  the  last 
will  and  testament  of  me,  Richard  Heldar. 
I  am  in  sound  bodily  and  mental  health,  and 
there  is  no  previous  will  to  revoke.' — That's 
all  right.  Damn  the  pen  !  Whereabouts  on 
the  paper  was  I  t — '  I  leave  everything  that  I 


The  Light  that  Failed     -  285 

possess  in  the  world,  including  four  thousand 
pounds,  and  two  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
twenty-eight  pounds  held  for  me'-^  Oh,  I 
can't  get  this  straight."  He  tore  off  half  the 
sheet  and  began  again  with  the  caution  about 
the  handwriting.  Then:  *'I  leave  all  the 
money  I  possess  in  the  world  to  " — here  fol- 
lowed Maisie's  name,  and  the  names  of  the  two 
banks  that  held  his  money. 

*'  It  mayn't  be  quite  regular,  but  no  one  has 
a  shadow  of  a  right  to  dispute  it,  and  I've  given 
Maisie's  address.  Comein,  Mr.  Beeton.  This 
is  my  signature  ;  you've  seen  it  often  enough 
to  know  it ;  I  want  you  and  your  wife  to  wit- 
ness it.  Thanks.  To-morrow  you  must  take 
me  to  the  landlord  and  I'll  pay  forfeit  for  leav- 
ing without  notice,  and  1*11  lodge  this  paper 
with  him  in  case  anything  happens  when  I'm 
away.  Now  we're  going  to  light  up  the  studio 
stove.  Stay  with  me,  and  give  me  my  papers 
as  I  want  'em." 

No  one  knows  until  he  has  tried  how  fine  a 
blaze  a  year's  accumulation  of  bills,  letters, 
and  dockets  can  make.  Dick  stuffed  into  the 
stove  every  document  in  the  studio — saving 
only  three  unopened  letters  :  destroyed  sketch- 
books, rough  note-books,  new  and  half-finished 
canvases  alike. 

"  What  a  lot  of  rubbish  a  tenant  gets  about 
him  if  he  stays  long  enough  in  one  place,  to 
be  sure,"  said  Mr.  Beeton  at  last. 

"  He  does.  Is  there  anything  more  left?* 
Dick  felt  round  the  walls. 


286       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  Not  a  thing,  and  the  stove's  nigh  red-hot." 

"  Excellent,  and  you've  lost  about  a  thou- 
sand pounds'  wortli  of  sketches.  Ho  !  ho  ! 
Quite  a  thousand  pounds'  worth,  if  I  can  re- 
member what  I  used  to  be." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  politely.  Mr.  Beeton  was  quite 
sure  that  Dick  had  gone  mad,  otherwise  he 
would  have  never  parted  with  his  excellent 
furniture  for  a  song.  The  canvas  things  took 
up  storage  room  and  were  much  better  out  of 
the  way. 

There  remained  only  to  leave  the  little  will 
in  safe  hands  :  that  could  not  be  accomplished 
till  to-morrow.  Dick  groped  about  the  floor 
picking  up  the  last  pieces  of  paper,  assured 
himself  again  and  again  that  there  remained 
no  written  word  or  sign  of  his  past  life  in 
drawer  or  desk,  and  sat  down  before  the  stove 
till  the  fire  died  out  and  the  contracting  iron 
cracked  in  the  silence  of  the  night. 


The  Light  that  Failed       287 


CHAPTER  XV. 

With  a  heart  of  furious  fancies, 

Whereof  I  am  commander ; 
With  a  burning  spear  and  a  horse  of  air. 

To  the  wilderness  I  wander. 
With  a  knight  of  ghosts  and  shadows 

I  summoned  am  to  tourney — 
Ten  leagues  beyond  the  wide  world's  end, 

Methinks  it  is  no  journey. 

—  Tom  a'  Bedlam'' s  song. 

"GooD-BY,  Bess;  I  promised  you  fifty. 
Here's  a  hundred — all  that  I  got  for  my  furni- 
ture from  Beeton.  That  will  keep  you  in  pretty 
frocks  for  some  time.  You've  been  a  good 
little  girl,  all  things  considered,  but  you've 
given  me  and  Torpenhow  a  fair  amount  of 
trouble." 

"  Give  Mr.  Torpenhow  my  love  if  you  see 
him,  won't  you  '^.  " 

^'  Of  course  I  will,  dear.     Now  take  me  up 
the    gang-plank    and   into    the    cabin.     Once 
aboard  the  lugger  and  the  maid  is — and  I  am 
free,  I  mean." 
•  "  Who'll  look  after  you  on  the  ship  }  " 

*'  The  head-steward,  if  there's  any  use  in 
money.  The  doctor  when  we  come  to  Port 
Said,  if  I  know  anything  of  P.  and  O.  doctors. 
After  that,  the  Lord  will  provide,  as  He  used 
to  do." 

Bess  found  Dick  his  cabin  in  the  wild  tur- 


288       The  Light  that  Failed 

moil  of  a  ship  full  of  leavetakers  and  weeping 
relatives.  Then  he  kissed  her,  and  laid  him- 
self down  in  his  bunk  until  the  decks  should 
be  clear.  He  who  had  taken  so  long  to  move 
about  his  own  darkened  rooms  well  understood 
the  geography  of  a  ship,  and  the  necessity  of 
seeing  to  his  own  comforts  was  as  wine  to  him. 
Before  the  screw  began  to  thrash  the  ship  along 
the  Docks  he  had  been  introduced  to  the  head- 
steward,  had  royally  tipped  him,  secured  a 
good  place  at  table,  opened  out  his  baggage, 
and  settled  himself  down  with  joy  in  the  cabin. 
It  was  scarcely  necessary  to  feel  his  way  as  he 
moved  about,  for  he  knew  everything  so  well. 
Then  God  was  very  kind :  a  deep  sleep  of 
v/eariness  came  upon  him  just  as  he  would 
have  thought  of  Maisie,  and  he  slept  till  the 
steamer  had  cleared  the  mouth  of  the  Thames 
and  was  lifting  to  the  pulse  of  the  Channel. 

The  rattle  of  the  engines,  the  reek  of  oil  and 
paint,  and  a  very  familiar  sound  in  the  next 
cabin  roused  him  to  his  new  inheritance. 

"  Oh,  it's  good  to  be  alive  again  ! "  He 
yawned,  stretched  himself  vigorously,  and  went 
on  deck  to  be  told  that  they  were  almost  abreast 
of  the  lights  of  Brighton.  This  is  no  more 
open  water  than  Trafalgar  Square  is  a  comr- 
mon;  the  free  levels  begin  at  Ushant ;  but 
none  the  less  Dick  could  feel  the  healing  of 
the  sea  at  work  upon  him  already.  A  boister- 
ous little  cross-swell  swung  the  steamer  dis- 
respectfully by  the  nose  ;  and  one  wave  break- 
ing far  aft  spattered  the  quarterdeck  and  the 


The  Light  that  Failed       289 

pile  of  new  deck  chairs.  He  heard  the  foam 
fall  with  the  clash  of  broken  glass,  was  stung 
in  the  face  by  a  cupful,  and  sniffing  luxuriously, 
felt  his  way  to  the  smoking-room  by  the  wheel. 
There  a  strong  breeze  found  him,  blew  his  cap 
off  and  left  him  bareheaded  in  the  doorway, 
and  the  smoking-room  steward,  understandmg 
that  he  was  a  voyager  of  experience,  said  that 
the  weather  would  be  stiff  in  the  chops  off  the 
Channel  and  more  than  half  a  gale  in  the  Bay. 
These  things  fell  as  they  were  foretold,  and 
Dick  enjoyed  himself  to  the  utmost.  It  is 
allowable  and  even  necessary  at  sea  to  lay  firm 
hold  upon  tables,  stanchions,  and  ropes  in 
moving  from  place  to  place.  On  land  the  man 
who  feels  with  his  hands  is  patently  blind. 
At  sea  even  a  blind  man  who  is  not  seasick 
can  jest  with  the  doctor  over  the  weakness  of 
his  fellows.  Dick  told  the  doctor  many  tales 
— and  these  are  coin  of  more  value  than  silver 
if  properly  handled — smoked  with  him  till  un- 
holy hours  of  the  night,  and  so  won  his  short- 
lived regard  that  he  promised  Dick  a  few 
hours  of  his  time  when  they  came  to  Port 
Said. 

And  the  sea  roared  or  was  still  as  the  winds 
blew,  and  the  engines  sang  their  song  day  and 
night,  and  the  sun  grew  stronger  day  by  day, 
and  Tom  the  Lascar  barber  shaved  Dick  of  a 
morning  under  the  open  hatch-grating  where 
the  cool  winds  blew,  and  the  awnings  were 
spread  and  the  passengers  made  merry,  and 
at  last  they  came  to  Port  Said. 
19 


290       The  Light  that  Failed 

**  Take  me,"  said  Dick  to  the  doctor,  '*  to 
Madame  Binat's — if  you  know '  where  that 
is." 

"  Whew  !  "  said  the  doctor,  ''  I  do.  There's 
not  much  to  choose  between  'em  ;  but  I  sup- 
pose you're  aware  that  that's  one  of  the  worst 
houses  in  the  place.  They'll  rob  you  to  be- 
gin with,  and  knife  you  later." 

"  Not  they.  Take  me  there,  and  I  can 
look  after  myself. '' 

So  he  was  brought  to  Madame  Binat's  and 
filled  his  nostrils  with  the  well-remembered 
smell  of  the  East,  that  runs  without  a  change 
from  the  Canal  head  to  Hong-Kong,  and  his 
mouth  with  the  villainous  Lingua-Franca  of 
the  Levant.  The  heat  smote  him  between 
the  shoulder-blades  with  the  buffet  of  an  old 
friend,  his  feet  slipped  on  the  sand,  and  his 
coat-sleeve  was  warm  as  new-baked  bread 
when  he  lifted  it  to  his  nose. 

Madame  Binat  smiled  with  the  smile  that 
knows  no  astonishment  when  Dick  entered 
the  drinking-shop  which  was  one  source  of 
her  gains.  But  for  a  little  accident  of  com- 
plete darkness  he  could  hardly  realize  that 
he  had  ever  quitted  the  old  life  that  hummed 
in  his  ears.  Somebody  opened  a  bottle  of 
peculiarly  strong  Schiedam.  The  smell  re- 
minded Dick  of  Monsieur  Binat,  who,  by  tlie 
way,  had  spoken  of  art  and  degradation. 
Binat  was  dead  ;  Madame  said  as  much  when 
the  doctor  departed,  scandalized,  so  far  as  a 
ship's  doctor  can  be,  at  the  warmth  of  Dick'i. 


The  Light  that  Failed       291 

reception.  Dick  was  delighted  at  it.  "  They 
remember  me  here  after  a  year.  They  have 
forgotten  me  across  the  water  by  this  time. 
Madame,  I  want  a  long  talk  with  you  when 
you're  at  liberty.  It  is  good  to  be  back 
again." 

In  the  evening  she  set  an  iron-topped  cafe- 
table  out  on  the  sands,  and  Dick  and  she  sat 
by  it,  while  the  house  behind  them  filled  with 
riot,  merriment,  oaths,  and  threats.  The  stars 
came  out  and  the  lights  of  the  shipping  in 
the  harbor  twinkled  by  the  head  of  the  Canal. 

"  Yes.  The  war  is  good  for  trade,  my 
friend  ;  but  what  dost  thou  do  here  ?  We 
have  not  forgotten  thee.^' 

"  I  was  over  there  in  England  and  I  went 
blind." 

"  But  there  was  the  glory  first.  We  heard 
of  it  here,  even  here — I  and  Binat ;  and  thou 
hast  used  the  head  of  Yellow  'Tina — she  is 
still  alive — so  often  and  so  well  that  'Tina 
laughed  when  the  papers  arrived  by  the  mail- 
boats.  It  was  always  something  that  we  here 
could  recognize  in  the  paintings.  And  then 
there  was  always  the  glory  and  the  money  for 
thee." 

"  I  am  not  poor — I  shall  pay  you  well." 

"Not  to  me.  Thou  hast  paid  for  every- 
thing.'* Under  her  breath,  "  Mon  Dieu,  to 
be  blind  and  so  young !     What  horror  !  " 

Dick  could  not  see  her  face  with  the  pity  on 
it,  or  his  own  with  the  discolored  hair  at  the 
temples.     He  did  not  feel  the  need  of  pity  j 


292       The  Light  that  Failed 

he  was  too  anxious  to  get  to  the  front  once 
more,  and  explained  his  desire." 

"  And  where  ?  The  Canal  is  full  of  the 
English  ships.  Sometimes  they  fire  as  they 
used  to  do  when  the  war  was  here — ten  years 
ago.  Beyond  Cairo  there  is  fighting,  but  how 
canst  thou  go  there  without  a  correspondent's 
passport  ?  And  in  the  desert  there  is  always 
fighting,  but  that  is  impossible  also,"  said 
she. 

"  I  must  go  to  Suakin. "  He  knew,  thanks 
to  Alf's  readings,  that  Torpenhow  was  at 
work  with  the  column  that  was  protecting  the 
construction  of  the  Suakin-Berber  line.  P. 
and  O.  steamers  do  not  touch  at  that  port, 
and,  besides,  Madame  Binat  knew  everybody 
whose  help  or  advice  was  worth  anything. 
They  were  not  respectable  folk,  but  they 
could  cause  things  to  be  accomplished,  which 
is  much  more  important  when  there  is  work 
toward. 

'•  But  at  Suakin  they  are  always  fighting. 
That  desert  breeds  men  always — and  always 
more  men.  And  they  are  so  bold  I  Why  to 
Suakin  .?  " 

"  My  friend  is  there." 

"  Thy  friend  !  Chtt !  Thy  friend  is  death, 
then." 

Madame  Binat  dropped  a  fat  arm  on  the 
table-top,  filled  Dick's  glass  anew,  and  looked 
at  him  closely  under  the  stars.  There  was  no 
need  that  he  should  bow  his  head  in  assent 
and  say — 


The  Light  that  Failed       293 

"No.  He  is  a  man,  but — if  it  should  ar- 
rive .  .  .    blamest  thou  ?  " 

"I  blame?"  she  laughed,  shrilly.  "Who 
am  I  that  I  should  blame  any  one — except 
those  who  try  to  cheat  me  over  their  consom- 
mations.     But  it  is  very  terrible." 

"  I  must  go  to  Suakin.  Think  for  me.  A 
great  deal  has  changed  within  the  year,  and 
the  men  I  knew  are  not  here.  The  Egyptian 
lighthouse  steamer  goes  down  the  Canal  to 
Suakin — and  the  post-boats —  But  even 
then " 

"Do  not  think  any  longer,  /know,  and  it 
is  for  me  to  think.  Thou  shalt  go — thou 
shalt  go  and  see  thy  friend.  Be  wise.  Sit 
here  until  the  house  is  a  little  quiet — I  must 
attend  to  my  guests — and  afterward  go  to 
bed.     Thou  shalt  go,  in  truth,  thou  shalt  go." 

*' To-morrow  ? " 

"As  soon  as  may  be."  She  was  talking  as 
though  he  were  a  child. 

He  sat  at  the  table  listening  to  the  voices 
in  the  harbor  and  the  streets,  and  wondering 
how  soon  the  end  would  come,  till  Madame 
Binat  carried  him  off  to  bed  and  ordered  him 
to  sleep.  The  house  shouted  and  sang  and 
danced  and  reveled,  Madame  Binat  moving 
through  it  with  one  eye  on  the  liquor  pay- 
ments and  the  girls  and  the  other  on  Dick's 
interests.  To  this  latter  end  she  smiled  upon 
scowling  and  furtive  Turkish  officers  of  fella- 
heen regiments,  was  gracious  to  Cypriote 
commissariat     underlings,    and    more     than 


294       The  Light  that  Failed 

kind  to  camel  agents  of  no  nationality  what- 
ever. 

In  the  early  morning,  being  then  appro- 
priately dressed  in  a  flaming  red  silk  ball- 
dress,  with  a  front  of  tarnished  gold  embroid- 
ery and  a  necklace  of  plate-glass  diamonds, 
she  made  chocolate  and  carried  it  in  to 
Dick. 

"  It  is  only  I,  and  I  am  of  discreet  age,  eh  ? 
Drink  and  eat  the  roll  too.  Thus  in  France 
mothers  bring  their  sons,  when  those  behave 
wisely,  the  morning  chocolate."  She  sat 
down  on  the  side  of  the  bed  whispering  : 

"  It  is  all  arranged.  Thou  wilt  go  by  the 
lighthouse  boat.  That  is  a  bribe  of  ten 
pounds  English.  The  captain  is  never  paid 
by  the  Government.  The  boat  comes  to 
Suakin  in  four  days.  There  will  go  with 
thee  George,  a  Greek  muleteer.  Another 
bribe  of  ten  pounds.  I  will  pay ;  they  must 
not  know  of  thy  money.  George  will  go  with 
thee  as  far  as  he  goes  with  his  mules.  Then 
he  comes  back  to  me,  for  his  well-beloved  is 
here,  and  if  I  do  not  receive  a  telegram  from 
Suakin  saying  that  thou  art  well,  the  girl 
answers  for  George." 

"  Thank  you."  He  reached  out  sleepily  for 
the  cup.     "  You  are  much  too  kind,  Madam 

"  If  there  were  anything  that  I  might  do  I 
would  say,  stay  here  and  be  wise ;  but  I  do 
not  think  that  would  be  best  for  thee."  She 
looked  at  her  liquor-stained  dress  with  a  sad 
smile.     "  Nay,  thou   shalt  go,  in  truth,  thou 


if 


The  Light  that  Failed       295 

shalt  go.  It  is  best  so.  My  boy,  it  is  best 
so." 

She  stooped  and  kissed  Dick  between  the 
eyes.  **  That  is  for  good-morning,"  she  said, 
going  away.  "  When  thou  art  dressed  we  will 
speak  to  George  and  make  everything  ready. 
But  first  we  must  open  the  little  trunk.  Give 
me  the  keys." 

*'  The  amount  of  kissing  lately  has  been 
simply  scandalous.  I  shall  expect  Torp  to 
kiss  me  next.  He  is  more  likely  to  swear  at 
me  for  getting  in  his' way,  though.  Well,  it 
won't  last  long — Ohe,  Madame,  help  me  to 
my  toilet  of  the  guillotine !  There  will  be 
no  chance  of  dressing  properly  out  yonder." 

He  was  rummaging  among  his  new  cam- 
paign kit,  and  roweling  his  hands  with  the 
spurs.  There  are  two  ways  of  wearing  well- 
oiled  ankle-jacks,  spotless  blue-leg  bands, 
k/iaki  co3.i  and  breeches,  and  a  perfectly  pipe- 
clayed helmet.  The  right  way  is  the  way  of  the 
un tired  man,  master  of  himself,  setting  out 
upon  an  expedition,  well  pleased. 

"  Everything  must  be  very  correct,"  Dick 
explained.  "  It  will  become  dirty  afterward, 
but  now  it  is  good  to  feel  well  dressed.  Is 
everything  as  it  should  be  ?  " 

He  patted  the  revolver  neatly  hidden  under 
the  fulness  of  the  blouse  on  the  right  hip  and 
fingered  his  collar. 

"  I  can  do  no  more,"  Madame  said,  be- 
tween laughing  and  crying.  "  Look  at  thyself 
—but  I  forgot. " 


296       The  Light  that  Failed 

**  I  am  very  content."  He  stroked  the 
creaseless  spirals  of  his  leggings.  "  Now  let 
us  go  and  see  the  captain  and  George  and 
the  lighthouse  boat.     Be  quick,  Madame." 

"  But  thou  canst  not  be  seen  by  the  harbor 
walking  with  me  in  the  daylight.  Figure  to 
yourself  if  some  English  ladies " 

"  There  are  no  English  ladies  ;  and  if  there 
are,  I  have  forgotten  them.     Take  me  there. " 

In  spite  of  his  burning  impatience  it  was 
nearly  evening  ere  the  lighthouse  boat  began 
to  move.  Madame  had  said  a  great  deal  both 
to  George  and  the  captain  touching  tiie  ar- 
rangements that  were  to  be  made  for  Dick's 
benefit.  Very  few  men  who  had  the  honor 
of  her  acquaintance  cared  to  disregard  Ma- 
dame's  advice.  That  sort  of  contempt  might 
end  in  being  knifed  by  a  stranger  in  a  gambling 
hell  upon  surprisingly  short  provocation. 

For  six  days — two  of  them  were  wasted  in 
the  crowded  Canal — the  little  steamer  worked 
her  way  to  Suakin,  where  she  was  to  pick  up 
the  superintendent  of  lighthouses  ;  and  Dick 
made  it  his  business  to  propitiate  George, 
who  was  distracted  with  fears  for  the  safety 
of  his  light-of-love  and  half  inclined  to  make 
Dick  repsonsible  for  his  own  discomfort. 
When  they  arrived  George  took  him  under  his 
wing,  and  together  they  entered  the  red-hot 
seaport,  encumbered  with  the  material  and 
wastage  of  the  Suakin-Berber  line,  from  lo- 
comotives in  disconsolate  fragments  to  mounds 
of  chairs  and  pot-sleepers. 


The  Light  that  Failed       297 

"If  you  keep  with  me,"  said  George,  "  no« 
body  will  ask  for  passport  or  what  you  do. 
They  are  all  very  busy." 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  should  like  to  hear  some  of 
the  Englishmen  talk.  They  might  remember 
me.  1  was  known  here  a  long  time  ago — 
when  I  was  some  one  indeed." 

"  A  long  time  ago  is  a  very  long  time  ago 
here.  The  graveyards  are  full.  Now  listen. 
This  new  railway  runs  out  so  far  as  l'anai-el« 
Hassan — that  is  seven  miles.  Then  there  is 
a  camp.  They  say  that  beyond  Tanai-el  Has- 
san the  English  troops  go  forward,  and  every- 
thing that  they  require  will  be  brought  to 
them  by  this  line." 

"Ah!  Base  camp.  I  see.  That's  a  better 
business  than  fighting  Fuzzies  in  the  open." 

"  For  this  reason  even  the  mules  go  up  in 
the  iron-train." 

"Iron  what?" 

*'  It  is  all  covered  with  iron,  because  it  is 
still  being  shot  at." 

"An  armored  train.  Better  and  better! 
Go  on,  faithful  George." 

"  And  I  go  up  with  my  mules  to-night. 
Only  those  who  particularly  require  to  go  to 
the  camp  go  out  with  the  train.  They  begin 
to  shoot  not  far  from  the  city." 

"  The  dears — they  always  used  to  !  "  Dick 
snuffed  the  smell  of  parched  dust,  heated  iron, 
and  flaking  paint  with  delight.  Certainly  the 
old  life  was  welcoming  him  back  most  gener- 
ously. 


298       The  Light  that  Failed 

"When  I  have  got  my  mules  together  I  go 
up  to-night,  but  you  must  first  send  a  telegram 
to  Port  Said,  declaring  that  I  have  done  you 
no  harm." 

"  Madame  has  you  well  in  hand.  Would 
you  stick  a  knife  into  me  if  you  had  the 
chance  ?" 

"  I  have  no  chance,"  said  the  Greek.  '*  She 
is  there  with  that  woman." 

"I  see.  It's  a  bad  thing  to  be  divided  be- 
tween love  of  woman  and  the  chance  of  loot. 
I  sympathize  with  you,  George." 

They  went  to  the  telegraph-office  unques- 
tioned, for  all  the  world  was  desperately  busy 
and  had  scarcely  time  to  turn  its  head,  and 
Suakin  was  the  last  place  under  sky  that  would 
be  chosen  for  holiday-ground.  On  their  re- 
turn the  voice  of  an  English  subaltern  asked 
Dick  what  he  was  doing.  The  blue  goggles 
were  over  his  eyes  and  he  walked  with  his 
hand  on  George's  elbow  as  he  replied — • 

"  Egyptian  Government — mules.  My  or- 
ders are  to  give  them  over  to  the  A.  C.  G.  at 
Tanai-el-Hassan.  'Any  occasion  to  show  my 
papers  ? " 

"  Oh,  certainly  not.  I  beg  your  pardon. 
I'd  no  right  to  ask,  but  not  seeing  your  face 
before  I " 

"  I  go  out  in  the  train  to-night,  I  suppose," 
said  Dick,  boldly.  "There  will  be  no  diffi- 
culty in  loading  up  the  mules,  will  there  t " 

"  You  can  see  the  horse-platforms  from 
here.     You  must  have  them  loaded  up  early," 


The  Light  that  Failed       299 

The  young  man  went  away  wondering  what 
sort  of  broken  down  waif  this  might  be  who. 
talked  like  a  gentleman  and  consorted  with 
Greek  muleteers.  Dick  felt  unhappy.  Ta 
outface  an  English  officer  is  no  small  things 
but  the  bluff  loses  relish  when  one  plays  it 
from  the  utter  dark,  and  stumbles  up  and 
down  rough  ways,  thinking  and  eternally  think- 
ing  of  what  might  have  been  if  things  had 
fallen  out  otherwise,  and  all  had  been  as  it 
was  not. 

George  shared  his  meal  with  Dick  and  went 
off  to  the  mule-lines.  His  charge  sat  alone 
in  a  shed  with  his  face  in  his  hands.  Before 
his  tight-shut  eyes  danced  the  face  of  Maisie, 
laughing,  with  parted  lips.  There  was  a  great 
bustle  and  clamor  about  him.  He  grew  afraid 
and  almost  called  for  George. 

"  I  say,  have  you  got  your  mules  ready  ? " 
It  was  the  voice  of  the  subaltern  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  My  man's  looking  after  them.  The — the 
fact  is  I've  a  touch  of  ophthalmia  and  I  can't 
see  very  well." 

"^  By  Jove  !  that's  bad.  You  ought  to  lie 
up  in  hospital  for  a  while.  I've  had  a  turn 
of  it  myself.     It's  as  bad  as  being  blind." 

"  So  I  find  it.  When  does  this  armored 
train  go } " 

"  At  six  o'clock.  It  takes  an  hour  to  cover 
the  seven  miles." 

"  Are  the  Fuzzies  on  the  rampage — eh  ?  " 

"About  three  nights  a  week.     'Fact  is  I'm 


300       The  Light  that  Failed 

in  acting  command  of  the  night-train.  It 
generally  runs  back  empty  to  Tanai  for  the 
night." 

"  Big  camp  at  Tanai,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Pretty  big.  It  has  to  feed  our  desert- 
column  somehow." 

"Is  that  far  off  .?" 

"  Between  thirty  and  forty  miles — in  an  in- 
fernal thirsty  country." 

"  Is  the  country  quiet  between  Tanai  and 
our  men  .<* " 

''  More  or  less.  I  shouldn't  care  to  cross 
it  alone,  or  with  a  subaltern's  command  for 
the  matter  of  that,  but  the  scouts  get  through 
in  some  extraordinary  fashion." 

"  They  always  did."  ' 

*'  Have  you  been  here  before,  then  .''  " 

**I  was  through  most  of  the  trouble  when 
it  first  broke  out." 

*'  In  the  service  and  cashiered,"  was  the 
subaltern's  first  thought,  so  he  refrained  from 
putting:  any  questions. 

"  There's  your  man  coming  up  with  the 
mules.      It  seems  rather  queer " 

"That  I  should  be  mule-leading?"  said 
Dick. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  say  so,  but  it  is.  Forgive 
me — it's  beastly  impertinence  I  know,  but  you 
speak  like  a  man  who  has  been  at  a  public 
school.      There's  no  mistaking  the  tone." 

"  I  am  a  public  school  man." 

"  I  thought  so.  I  say,  I  don't  want  to  hurt 
your  feelings,  but  you're  a  little  down  on  your 


The  Light  that  Failed       301 

luck,  aren't  you  ?  I  saw  you  sitting  with  your 
head  in  your  hands,  and  that's  why  I  spoke." 

*' Thanks.  I  am  about  as  thoroughly  and 
completely  broke  as  a  man  need  be. " 

''Suppose — I  mean  I'm  a  public  school  man 
myself.  Couldn't  I  perhaps — take  it  as  a 
loan  y'  know  and " 

"You're  much  too  good,  but  on  my  honor 
I've  as  much  money  as  I  want.  ...  I  tell 
you  what  you  could  do  for  me,  though,  and 
put  me  under  an  everlasting  obligation.  Let 
me  come  into  the  bogie  truck  of  the  train. 
There  is  a  foretruck,  isn't  there?" 

*'  Yes.     How  d'you  know  ?  " 

"I've  been  in  an  armored  train  before. 
Only  let  me  see — hear  some  of  the  fun  I  mean, 
and  I'll  be  grateful.  I  go  at  my  own  risk  as 
a  non-combatant," 

The  young  man  thought  for  a  minute. 
"  All  right,"  he  said.  "  We're  supposed  to  be 
an  empty  train,  and  there's  no  one  to  blow  me 
up  at  the  other  end." 

George  and  a  horde  of  yelling  amateur  as- 
sistants had  loaded  up  the  mules,  and  the 
narrow-gauge  armored  train,  plated  with  three- 
eiglVihs  inch  boiler-plate  till  it  looked  like  one 
lonp;  coffin,  stood  ready  to  start. 

Two  bogie  trucks  running  before  the  loco- 
motive were  completely  covered  in  with  plat- 
ing, except  that  the  leading  one  was  pierced 
in  front  for  the  nozzle  of  a  machine-gun,  and 
the  second  at  either  side  for  lateral  fire.  The 
trucks  together  made   one    long  iron-vaulted 


302       The  Light  that  Failed  , 

chamber  in  which  a  score  of  artillerymen  we/e 
rioting. 

"  Whitechapel — last  train  !  Ah,  I  see  yer 
kissin'  in  the  first  class  there  I "  somebody 
shouted,  just  as  Dick  was  clambering  into  the 
forward  truck. 

"  Lordy  !  'Ere's  a  real  live  passenger  for 
the  Kew,  Tanai,  Acton,  and  Ealin'  train.  Echo, 
sir.  Speshul  edition!  Star^  sir." — "Shall 
I  get  you  a  foot-warmer  }  "    said  another. 

"Thanks.  I'll  pay  my  footing,"  said  Dick, 
and  relations  of  the  most  amicable  were  es- 
tablished ere  silence  came  with  the  arrival  of 
the  subaltern,  and  the  train  jolted  out  over 
the  rough  track. 

"  This  is  an  immense  improvement  on 
shooting  the  unimpressionable  Fuzzy  in  the 
open,"  said  Dick,  from  his  place  in  the  corner. 

"  Oh,  but  he's  still  unimpressed.  There 
he  goes  ! "  said  the  subaltern,  as  a  bullet 
struck  the  ouside  of  the  truck.  "  VVe  always 
have  at  least  one  demonstration  against  the 
night-train.  Generally  they  attack  the  rea~« 
truck  where  my  junior  commands.  He  gets 
all  the  fun  of  the  fair." 

"  Not  to-night  though  !  Listen  !  '^  said 
Dick.  A  flight  of  heavy-handed  bullets  was 
succeeded  by  yelling  and  shouts.  The  chil- 
dren of  the  desert  valued  their  nightly  amuse- 
ment, and  the  train  was  an  excellent  mark. 

"  Is  it  worth  while  giving  them  half  a  hopper 
full  ?  "  the  subaltern  asked  of  the  engine 
which  was  driven  by  a  Lieutenant  of  Sappers. 


The  Light  that  Failed       303 

"I  should  just  think  so  !  This  is  my  sec- 
tion of  the  line.  They'll  be  playing  old 
Harry  with  my  permanent  way  if  we  don't 
stop  'em." 

"  Right  O  !  '* 

"  H}'rmph  /"  said  the  machine  gun  through 
all  its  five  noses  as  the  subaltern  drew  the  lever 
home.  The  empty  cartridges  clashed  on  the 
floor  and  the  smoke  blew  back  through  the 
truck.  There  was  indiscriminate  firing  at  the 
rear  of  the  train,  a  return  fire  from  the  dark- 
ness without  and  unlimited  howling.  Dick 
stretched  himself  on  the  floor,  wild  with  de- 
light at  the  sounds  and  the  smells. 

'*  God  is  very  good — I  never  thought  I'd 
hear  this  again.  Give  'em  hell,  men.  Oh, 
give  'em  hell !  "  he  cried. 

The  train  stopped  for  some  obstruction  on 
the  line  ahead  and  a  party  went  out  to  recon- 
noiter,  but  came  back  cursing,  for  spades.. 
The  children  of  the  desert  had  piled  sand  and 
gravel  on  the  rails,  and  twenty  minutes  were 
lost  in  clearing  it  away.  Then  the  slow  prog- 
ress recommenced,  to  be  variedwith  more  shots,, 
more  shoutings,  the  steady  clack  and  kick  of 
the  machine  guns,  and  a  final  difficulty  with  a 
half-lifted  rail  ere  the  train  came  under  the 
protection  of  the  roaring  camp  at  Tanai-el- 
Hassan. 

"  Now,  you  see  why  it  takes  an  hour  and  a 
half  to  fetch  her  through,"  said  the  subaltern, 
unshipping  the  cartridge-hopper  above  his  pet 
gun. 


304       The  Light  that  Failed 

"  It  was  a  lark,  though.  I  only  wish  it  had 
lasted  twice  as  long.  How  superb  it  must 
have  looked  from  outside  !  "  said  Dick,  sigh- 
ing regretfully. 

"  It  palls  after  the  first  few  nights.  By  the 
way,  when  you've  settled  about  your  mules, 
come  and  see  what  we  can  find  to  eat  in  my 
tent.  I'm  Bennil  of  the  Gunners — in  the  artil- 
lery lines — and  mind  you  don't  fall  over  my 
tent-ropes  in  the  dark.'* 

But  it  was  all  dark  to  Dick.  He  could  only 
smell  the  camels,  the  hay-bales,  the  cooking, 
the  smoky  fires,  and  the  tanned  canvas  of  the 
tents  as  he  stood,  where  he  had  dropped  from 
the  train,  shouting  for  George.  There  was  a 
sound  of  light-hearted  kicking  on  the  iron  skin 
of  the  rear  trucks,  with  squealing  and  grunt- 
ino^.     Georsfe  was  unloadina:  the  mules. 

The  engine  was  blowing  off  steam  nearly  in 
Dick's  ear  ;  a  cold  wind  of  the  desert  danced 
between  his  legs  ;  he  was  hungry,  and  felt 
tired  and  dirty — so  dirty  that  he  tried  to  brush 
his  coat  with  his  hands.  That  was  a  hopeless 
job,  he  thrust  his  hands  ijito  his  pockets  and 
began  to  count  over  the  many  times  that  he 
had  waited  in  strange  or  remote  places  for 
trains  or  camels,  mules  or  horses,  to  carry  him 
to  his  business.  In  those  days  he  could  see — 
few  men  more  clearly — and  the  spectacle  of 
an  armed  camp  at  dinner  under  the  stars  was 
an  ever  fresh  pleasure  to  the  eye.  There  was 
color,  light,  and  motion,  without  which  no 
man  has  much  pleasure  in  living.      This  night 


The  Light  that  Failed       305 

there  remained  for  him  only  one  more  jour- 
ney through  the  darkness  that  never  lifts  to 
tell  a  man  how  far  he  has  traveled.  Then  he 
would  grip  Torpenhow's  hand  again — Tor- 
penhow,  who  was  alive  and  strong,  and  lived 
in  the  midst  of  the  action  that  had  once  made 
the  reputation  of  a  man  called  Dick  Heldar : 
not  in  the  least  to  be  confused  with  the  blind, 
bewildered  vagabond  who  seemed  to  answer 
to  the  same  name.  Yes,  he  would  find  Tor- 
penhow,  and  come  as  near  to  the  old  life  as 
might  be.  Afterward  he  would  forget  every- 
thing: Bessie,  who  had  wrecked  the  IMelan> 
colia  and  so  nearly  wrecked  his  life  ;  Beeton, 
who  lived  in  a  strange  unreal  city  full  of  tin- 
tacks  and  gas-plugs  and  matters  that  no  men 
needed  ;  that  irrational  being  who  had  offered 
him  love  and  loyalty  for  nothing,  but  had  not 
signed  her  name  ;  and  most  of  all  Maisie,  who, 
from  her  own  point  of  view,  was  undeniably 
right  in  all  she  did,  but  oh,  at  this  distance, 
so  tantalizingly  fair. 

George's  hand  on  his  arm  pulled  him  back 
to  the  situation. 

"  And  what  now  ?  "  said  George. 

' '  Oh  yes,  of  course.  What  now  ?  Take  me 
to  the  camel-men.  Take  me  to  where  the  scouts 
sit  when  they  come  in  from  the  desert.  They 
sit  by  their  camels,  and  the  camels  eat  grain 
out  of  a  black  blanket  held  up  at  the  corners, 
and  the  men  eat  by  their  side  just  like  camels. 
Take  me  there  1" 

The  camp  was  rough  and  rutty,  and  Dick 
20 


3o6       The  Light  that  Failed 

stumbled  many  times  over  the  stumps  of 
scrub.  The  scouts  were  sitting  by  their 
beasts,  as  Dick  knew  they  would.  The  light 
of  the  dung-fires  flickered  on  their  bearded 
faces,  and  the  camels  bubbled  and  mumbled 
beside  them  at  rest.  It  was  no  part  of  Dick's 
policy  to  go  into  the  desert  with  a  convoy  of 
supplies.  That  would  lead  to  impertinent 
questions,  and  since  a  blind  non-combatant  is 
not  needed  at  the  front,  he  would  probably  be 
forced  to  return  to  Suakin.  He  must  go  up 
alone,  and  go  immediately. 

'*  Now  for  one  last  bluff — the  biggest  of  all/' 
he  said.  "  Peace  be  with  you,  brethren  !  '^ 
The  watchful  George  steered  him  to  the  circle 
of  the  nearest  fire.  The  heads  of  the  camel- 
sheiks  bowed  gravely,  and  the  camels,  scent- 
ing a  European,  looked  sideways  curiously  like 
brooding  hens,  half  ready  to  get  to  their  feet. 

*'  A  beast  and  a  driver  to  go  to  the  fighting 
line  to-night,"  said  Dick. 

"  A  Mulaid  ?  "  said  a  voice,  scornfully  nam- 
ing the  best  baggage-breed  that  he  knew. 

"  A  Bisharin,"  returned  Dick,  with  perfect 
gravity.  A  Bisharin  without  saddle-galls. 
Therefore  no  charge  of  thine  shock-head." 

Two  or  three  minutes  passed.     Then — 

"  We  be  knee-haltered  for  the  night.  There 
is  no  going  out  from  the  camp." 

"  Not  for  money  ? " 

"  H'm — Ah  !     English  money  ?  " 

Another  depressing  interval  of  silence. 

"  How  much  ? '' 


The  Light  that  Failed       307 

**  Twenty-five  pounds  English  paid  into  the 
hand  of  the  driver  at  my  journey's  end,  and 
as  much  more  into  the  hand  of  the  camel- 
sheik  here,  to  be  paid  when  the  driver  returns." 

This  was  royal  payment,  and  the  sheik  who 
knew  that  he  would  get  his  commission  on 
the  deposit,  stirred  in  Dick's  behalf. 

"  For  scarcely  one  night's  journey — fifty 
pounds.  Land  and  wells  and  good  trees  and 
wives  to  make  a  man  content  for  the  rest  of 
his  days.     Who  speaks  ?  "  said  Dick. 

"  I,"  said  a  voice.  "  I  will  go — but  there 
is  no  going  from  the  camp." 

*'  Fool !  I  know  that  a  camel  can  break  his 
knee-halter,  and  the  sentries  do  not  fire  if  one 
goes  in  chase.  Twenty-five  pounds  and  an- 
other twenty-five  pounds.  But  the  beast  must 
be  a  good  Bisharin ;  I  will  take  no  baggage- 
camel." 

Then  the  bargaining  began,  and  at  the  end 
of  half  an  hour  the  first  deposit  was  paid  over 
to  the  sheik,  who  talked  in  low  tones  to  the 
driver.  Dick  heard  the  latter  say  :  "  A  little 
way  out  only.  Any  baggage-beast  will  serve. 
Am  I  a  fool  to  waste  my  cattle  for  a  blind 
man  ? " 

"  And  though  I  cannot  see  " — Dick  lifted 
his  voice  a  little — "yet  I  carry  that  which  has 
six  eyes,  and  the  driver  will  sit  before  me.  If 
we  do  not  reach  the  English  troops  in  the 
dawn  he  will  be  dead." 

"But  where,  in  God's  name,  are  the 
troops  ? " 


3o8       The  Light  that  Failed 

*'  Unless  thou  knowest  let  another  man 
ride.  Dost  thou  know  ?  Remember  it  will 
be  life  or  death  to  thee." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  driver  sullenly.  "Stand 
back  from  my  beast.     I  am  going  to  slip  him." 

"  Not  so  swiftly.  George,  hold  the  camel's 
head  a  moment.  I  want  to  feel  his  cheek." 
The  hands  wandered  over  the  hide  till  they 
found  the  branded  half-circle  that  is  the  mark 
of  the  Bisharin,  the  light-built  riding-camel. 
"That  is  well.  Cut  this  one  loose.  Remember 
no  blessing  of  God  comes  on  those  who  try  to 
cheat  the  blind." 

The  men  chuckled  by  the  fires  at  the  camel- 
driver's  discomfiture.  He  had  intended  to 
substitute  a  slow,  saddle-galled  baggage-colt. 

"Stand  back!"  one  shouted,  lashing  the 
Bisharin  under  the  belly  with  a  quirt.  Dick 
obeyed  as  soon  as  he  felt  the  nose-string  tighten 
in  his  hand, — and  a  cry  went  up,  "  Illaha  ! 
Aho  !     He  is  loose." 

With  a  roar  and  a  grunt  the  Bisharin  rose  to 
his  feet  and  plunged  forward  toward  the  desert, 
his  driver  following  with  shouts  and  lamenta- 
tion. George  caught  Dick's  arm  and  hurried 
him  stumbling  and  tripping  past  a  disgusted 
sentry  who  was  used  to  stampeding  camels. 

"What's  the  row  now?  "  he  cried. 

"Every  stitch  of  my  kit  on  that  blasted 
dromedary,"  Dick  answered,  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  common  soldier. 

"  Go  on,  and  take  care  your  throat's  not  cut 
outside — you  and  your  dromedary's." 


The  Light  that  Failed       309 

The  outcries  ceased  when  the  camel  had  dis- 
appeared behind  a  hillock,  and  his  driver  had 
called  him  back  and  made  him  kneel  down. 

"  Mount  first,"  said  Dick.  Then  climbing 
into  the  second  seat  and  gently  screwing  the 
pistol  muzzle  into  the  small  of  his  companion's 
back,  "Go  on  in  God's  name,  and  swiftly, 
Good-by,  George.  Remember  me  to  Madame, 
and  have  a  good  time  with  your  girl.  Get  for- 
ward, child  of  the  Pit  I  " 

A  few  minutes  later  he  was  shut  up  in  a 
great  silence,  hardly  broken  by  the  creaking 
of  the  saddle  and  the  soft  pad  of  the  tireless 
feet.  Dick  adjusted  himself  comfortably  to 
the  rock  and  pitch  of  the  pace,  girthed  his  belt 
tighter,  and  felt  the  darkness  slide  past.  For 
an  hour  he  was  conscious  only  of  the  sense  of 
rapid  progress. 

"  A  good  camel,"  he  said  at  last. 

*'  He  has  never  been  underfed.  He  is  my 
own  and  clean  bred,"  the  driver  replied. 

"  Go  on." 

His  head  dropped  on  his  chest  and  he  tried 
to  think,  but  the  tenor  of  his  thoughts  was 
broken  because  he  was  very  sleepy.  In  the 
half  doze  it  seemed  that  he  was  learning  a 
punishment  hyrrtn  at  Mrs.  Jennett's.  He  had 
committed  some  crime  as  bad  as  Sabbath- 
breaking,  and  she  had  locked  him  up  in  his 
bedioom.  But  he  could  never  repeat  more 
than  the  first  two  lines  of  the  hymn — 

When  Israel  of  the  Lord  beloved 
Out  of  the  land  of  bondage  came. 


310       The  Light  that  Failed 

He  said  them  over  and  over  thousands  of 
times.  The  driver  turned  in  the  saddle  to  see 
if  there  were  any  chance  of  capturing  the 
revolver  and  ending  the  ride.  Dick  roused, 
struck  him  over  the  head  with  the  butt,  and 
stormed  himself  wide  awake.  Somebody  hid- 
den in  a  clump  of  camel-thorn  shouted  as  the 
camel  toiled  up  rising  ground.  A  shot  was 
fired,  and  the  silence  shut  down  again,  bring- 
ing the  desire  to  sleep.  Dick  could  think 
no  longer.  He  was  too  tired  and  stiff  and 
cramped  to  do  more  than  nod  uneasily  from 
time  to  time,  waking  with  a  start  and  punch- 
ing the  driver  with  the  pistol. 

'*  Is  there  a  moon  ?  "  he  asked,  drowsily. 

*'  She  is  near  her  setting. " 

*'  1  wish  that  I  could  see  her.  Halt  the 
camel.     At  least  let  me  hear  the  desert  talk." 

The  man  obeyed.  Out  of  the  utter  stillness 
came  one  breath  of  wind.  It  rattled  the  dead 
leaves  of  a  shrub  some  distance  away  and 
ceased.  A  handful  of  dry  earth  detached  it- 
self from  the  edge  of  a  rain  trench  and  crum- 
led  softly  to  the  bottom. 

"  Go  on.     The  night  is  very  cold." 

Those  who  have  watched  till  the  morning 
know  how  the  last  hour  before 'the  light  length- 
ens itself  into  many  eternities.  It  seemed  to 
Dick  that  he  had  never  since  the  beginning  of 
original  darkness  done  anything  at  all  save  jolt 
through  the  air.  Once  in  a  thousand  years  he 
would  finger  the  nail-heads  on  the  saddle-front 
and  count  them  all  carefully.     Centuries  later 


The  Light"  that  Failed       311 

he  would  shift  his  revolver  from  his  right 
hand  to  his  left  and  allow  the  eased  arm  to 
drop  down  at  his  side.  From  the  safe  distance 
of  London  he  was  watching  himself  thus  em- 
ployed,— watching  critically.  Yet  whenever 
he  put  out  his  hand  to  the  canvas  that  he  might 
paint  the  tawny  yellow  desert  under  the  glare 
of  the  sinking  moon,  the  black  shadow  of  the 
camel  and  the  two  bowed  figures  atop,  that 
hand  held  a  revolver  and  the  arm  was  numbed 
from  wrist  to  collar-bone.  Moreover,  he  was 
in  the  dark,  and  could  see  no  canvas  of  any 
kind  whatever. 

The  driver  grunted,  and  Dick  was  conscious 
of  a  change  in  the  air. 

"I  smell  the  dawn,"  he  whispered. 

'*  It  is  here,  and  yonder  are  the  troops. 
Have  I  done  well?" 

The  camel  stretched  out  his  neck  and  roared 
as  there  came  down  wind  the  pungent  reek  of 
camels  in  square. 

"  Go  on.  We  must  get  there  swiftly.  Go 
on." 

"  They  are  moving  in  their  camp.  There  is 
so  much  dust  that  I  cannot  see  what  they  do. " 

"  Am  I  in  better  case?     Go  forward." 

They  could  hear  the  hum  of  voices  ahead, 
the  howling  and  the  bubbling  of  the  beasts  and 
the  hoarse  cries  of  the  soldiers  girthing  up  for 
the  day.     Two  or  three  shots  were  fired. 

"  Is  that  at  us  ?  Surely  they  can  see  that  I 
am  English,"  Dick  spoke  angrily. 

"  Nay  it  is  from  the  desert,"  the  driver  an- 


312       The  Light  that  Failed 

swered,  cowering  in  his  saddle.  "  Go  forward, 
my  child !  Well  it  is  that  the  dawn  did  not 
uncover  us  an  hour  ago." 

The  camel  headed  straight  for  the  column 
and  the  shots  behind  multiplied.  The  children 
of  the  desert  had  arranged  that  most  uncom- 
fortable of  surprises,  a  dawn  attack  for  the 
English  troops,  and  were  getting  their  distance 
by  snap-shots  at  the  only  moving  object  with- 
out the  square. 

*'  What  luck  !  What  stupendous  and  im- 
perial luck  !  "  said  Dick.  "It's  'just  before 
the  battle,  mother.'  Oh,  God  has  been  most 
good  to  me  !  Only  " — the  agony  of  the 
thought  made  him  screw  up  his  eyes  for  an 
instant — "  Maisie.  .  .  ." 

"  Allahu  !  We  are  in,"  said  the  man,  as  he 
drove  into  the  rearguard  and  the  camel  knelt. 

"Who  the  deuce  are  you  ?  Despatches  or 
what  ?  What's  the  strength  of  the  enemy  be- 
hind that  ridge }  How  did  you  get  through  }  " 
asked  a  dozen  voices.  For  all  answer  Dick 
took  a  long  breath,  unbuckled  his  belt,  and 
shouted  from  the  saddle  at  the  top  of  a  wearied 
and  dusty  voice,  ''  Torpenhow  !  Ohe,  Torp  ! 
Coo-ee,  Tor-pen-how. " 

A  bearded  man  raking  in  the  ashes  of  afire 
for  a  light  to  his  pipe  moved  very  swiftly  to- 
ward that  cry,  as  the  rearguard,  facing  about, 
began  to  fire  at  the  puffs  of  smoke  from  the 
hillocks  around.  Gradually  the  scattered 
white  cloudlets  drew  out  into  long  lines  of 
banked  white  that  hung  heavily  in  the  stillness 


The  Light  that  Failed       313 

of  the  dawn  before  they  turned  over  wave- 
like and  glided  into  the  valleys.  The  soldiers 
in  the  square  were  coughing  and  swearing  as 
their  own  smoke  obstructed  their  view,  and 
they  edged  forward  to  get  beyond  it.  A 
wounded  camel  leaped  to  its  feet  and  roared 
aloud,  the  cry  ending  in  a  bubbling  grunt. 
Some  one  had  cut  its  throat  to  prevent  confu- 
sion. Then  came  the  thick  sob  of  a  man  receiv- 
ing his  death-wound  from  a  bullet ;  then  a  yell 
of  agony  and  redoubled  firing. 

There  was  no  time  to  ask  any  questions. 

"  Get  down,  man  !  Get  down  behind  the 
camel  !  " 

"  No.  Put  me,  I  pray,  in  the  forefront  of 
the  battle.  Dick  turned  his  face  to  Torpen- 
how  and  raised  his  hand  to  set  his  helmet 
straight,  but,  miscalculating  the  distance, 
knocked  it  off.  Torpenhow  saw  that  his  hair 
was  gray  on  the  temples,  and  that  his  face 
was  the  face  of  an  old  man. 

"  Come  down,  you  damned  fool !  Dickie, 
come  off ! " 

And  Dick  came  obediently,  but  as  a  tree 
falls,  pitching  sideways  from  the  Bisharin's 
saddle  at  Torpenhow's  feet.  His  luck  had 
held  to  the  last,  even  to  the  crowning  mercy 
of  a  kindly  bullet  through  his  head. 

Torpenhow  knelt  under  the  lee  of  the  camel, 
with  Dick's  body  in  his  arms. 

THE   END. 


B     000  003  169     0 


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